


Afterglow

by LetsWookiesWin (Ravenhoot)



Series: A Fox of Fire and Light [2]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, The Unicorn Chronicles - Bruce Coville
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:40:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 46
Words: 116,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24593938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenhoot/pseuds/LetsWookiesWin
Summary: Ten years after accepting the mating bond, Elain is having visions that are both foreboding and devastating, which has begun to drive a wedge between her and Lucien. Elain's visions are accompanied by a mysterious and sinister voice, taunting her with her worst fears. Her strength to resist its constant attempts to isolate her from her loved ones is waning... and she isn't sure how much longer she can ignore the whispering inside her mind.Meanwhile, Lucien's mother has finally decided the time has come to leave Autumn behind. With help from Eris, Lucien and his friends help his mother reunite with Helion. In doing so, Helion finally learns the truth about who Lucien is to him. Beron rages after his discovery that his wife has left him. His response is rash and drastic, causing all seven courts of Prythian to take notice—and action.
Relationships: Azriel/Briar (ACoTaR), Elain Archeron/Lucien Vanserra, Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Helion/The Lady of the Autumn Court (ACoTaR), Morrigan (ACoTaR)/Original Character(s)
Series: A Fox of Fire and Light [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1777633
Comments: 578
Kudos: 248





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, friends! This is the official start of _Daylight_ 2, so strap in! I'm going to be removing the teaser chapter for now since I don't want the story line to end up confusing. But it will be back once the story has reached that point.

Lucien woke with a start. The room practically crackled with energy and when he turned on his side, he noticed that his mate was not in the bed beside him. The first time this had happened, Lucien had panicked. Unfortunately, now he was all too familiar with it.

He slid out from beneath the comforter and went in search of her. There were three places that he would bet on where he’d find her: the library, the kitchen, or her garden. Whenever Elain was troubled and sought solitude, those were the places she sought refuge. The townhouse Rhysand had bought them had come furnished with a modest library, which they had filled with books to suit their interests. Elain would often pull one of the volumes full of Prythian folktales off the shelf and curl up in an armchair to read. Though Lucien doubted she was in the mindset to read at the present moment.

Sometimes, she would go to the kitchen if she couldn’t sleep. Most of the times that happened, the wraith twins that were so fond of Elain would somehow materialize in their house. Elain would often bake quietly with them whenever sleeplessness seized her, resulting in Lucien waking the following morning to the smell of something incredible—aside from the smell of his mate, of course. 

Nearly ten years and her scent still sent his stomach doing backflips whenever he caught it coming down the stairs. That was something he had feared would fade over time, and perhaps it still would eventually. But so far, the sight, the smell, the sound of Elain still sent his heart fluttering. She was the light of his life—the source of all his happiness…

But now, her happiness had dulled. And it nearly killed him to see it happening. He was determined to find a way to bring back her smile and her joy for life. He was terrified of seeing her withdraw into herself—of becoming the frail, broken female he’d found at the House of Wind when Feyre had first brought him to Velaris.

When he didn’t find her in either the library or the kitchen, he knew he would find her in the garden. Sure enough, as he opened the patio door that led out to their small terrace, he saw her sitting on the ground. She was sitting on her side, one arm supporting her weight as the other tenderly stroked the tiny buds that had just begun to bloom. He couldn’t hear her, but Lucien was almost sure that she was talking to them, offering words of encouragement and support. Words that, when offered to her, she ignored and cast aside. It seemed that failure for her flowers was acceptable whereas her own shortcomings were unacceptable. It broke Lucien’s heart.

Her nightdress fanned around her, hiding her slender legs so that only her toes peeked out from the hem. Though her posture didn’t change, Lucien could tell that she knew he’d come outside. Still, she didn’t turn to look at him. 

**_It happened again, didn’t it?_ **

She stiffened slightly—the only indication that she’d heard him.

_ I’m fine.  _ Her reply through the bond was brisk, dismissive. 

**_That’s not what I asked…_ **

Elain sighed and stood, brushing dirt off her nightdress. The expression in her eyes confirmed what Lucien suspected, though it was also guarded and closed off. He knew he wouldn’t get any details of this one. 

And really, why should he? It was probably exactly the same as the first two. Still, it stung him that she didn’t want to confide in it with him. Especially considering that it affected him nearly as much as it did her.

“Can I get you anything?” He offered.

“No, I’m fine,” she murmured even as Lucien predicted her reply.

He turned to go inside, pausing with his hand on the doorknob. “I’ll be inside if you need me.”

She nodded, acknowledging that she’d heard him, but did not reply. Lucien sighed and went inside. As he climbed the stairs to return to their bedroom where he’d lie awake until dawn, he knew she wouldn’t follow him.

# 🍂

Elain watched Lucien as he dejectedly went back inside. Through the glass patio door, she watched him climb the stairs until he was out of sight. Only when she was sure he was upstairs did she let out the sob she’d been holding in.

She threw the trowel she’d been using against the stone bench and buried her face in her hands. She wished she could make him understand. But he wasn’t the one being tormented by visions that were little more than threats. Every one of her visions had come to pass, so what made these any different? Whether it was immediately or months away, every vision Elain had eventually happened. And as if they weren’t bad enough, now the voice that accompanied them whispered nasty, horrible things to her.

The voice was new—something that had never accompanied a vision before. But three times now it had hissed inside her head after each vision had crushed her dreams into rubble. Worse, it lingered long after the vision had ceased. The menacing voice taunted her, whispering things she herself had often thought but was always unwilling to speak aloud. Sometimes, it was only words or phrases, but occasionally, it would barrage her with unending criticisms and twisted truths. 

Even now, after watching her mate’s heart break from her own doing, wishing she could call back to him and make him understand, the voice mocked her.

_ You’ll never be enough. Not until you give him that which  _ every  _ male desires. _

Elain clamped her hands over her ears as if that would shut the voice out. 

_ Tsk tsk, you know better than that. You can’t shut me out. I’m  _ inside _ your head, stupid girl. _

“Leave me alone!” She wailed.

_ You know when I’ll leave. _

And she did. It had told her time and time again. But according to her visions, she would never be able to fulfill the duty that would silence the Whisperer for good. 

Burying her face in her hands once more, she wept. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long since I updated, my lovelies! I'm juggling this and an original WIP so please forgive me!

Lucien didn’t even knock when he entered Rhys and Feyre’s townhouse. None of the Inner Circle did. Rhys often joked that it felt more like a waypoint than an actual domicile, but Lucien knew he would secretly be upset if everyone stopped showing up whenever they liked. Rhys thrived on chaotic energy. 

As soon as the door closed behind him, a tiny blur with black hair ambushed him, clutching him tightly around the knees. 

“Hey, kiddo,” he greeted his niece. 

“Suri, let your uncle Lucien get through the door first,” Feyre called from the sitting room. 

“I still can’t believe you named your daughter for a Suriel—whose name you didn’t even know… so by the Cauldron, name her after the whole race.”

“Well, it was going to be Luci,” Feyre retorted. “but Rhys and I thought it fitting to name her after my first _real_ friend in Prythian.”

Lucien feigned offense as he crouched and picked up the toddler who almost bore his namesake, intercepting her before she could wobble over to Feyre’s paints. She tilted her head and reached for Lucien’s golden eye. 

“Ah, sorry little one,” Lucien chortled. “That doesn’t come out for you to play with.”

The girl’s violet-blue eyes landed on a stuffed horse behind him. A gift from Morrigan, more than likely. He reached for the toy and handed it to her. 

“Unca Looten,” she garbled in barely understandable speech, “go ride.”

Everyone in the Inner Circle had their roles with Suri. Rhys and the Illyrians took turns flying her around Velaris. Feyre let her finger paint abstract designs on parchment (and Lucien was willing to bet that Rhys probably kept every single one of them in a box somewhere). All the females doted on her, taking her out for sweets (Amren), buying her an excessive amount of toys (Morrigan), and giving her a tiny plastic trowel and letting her dig in a pile of potting soil (Elain). But with Lucien, it was horseback riding. For whatever reason, the child loved for Lucien to take her out on one of the horses. 

Velaris was too densely populated for a stable, but Rhysand had one on the outskirts of the city. Lucien would take the girl riding through the foothills of the mountains and he told Feyre that when she was a bit older, he would teach her archery. 

Lucien hoisted her onto his shoulders, barely wincing when Suri gripped his hair tightly. She did it so often, he doubted whether he even had nerve endings left in his scalp. He caught his reflection in the mirror on the opposite wall and laughed inwardly. As the tiny toddler with jet black hair gleefully bounced the toy horse in the air, occasionally bonking Lucien on the head with it, he knew he’d let her yank and pull on his hair whenever she liked if it meant she was happy. 

Even as he indulged the child, his heart ached. He knew that Suri’s mere existence wore heavily on his own mate’s heart. She wanted a child of her own so badly and her visions seemed hell-bent on making sure she would never fulfill that dream. 

“Wait til you have your own,” Feyre smirked as she watched her daughter bounce the toy horse in the air. 

Lucien’s gut twisted uncomfortably. He had asked Elain countless times to talk to her sisters. And if not both of them, then at least Feyre. Especially Feyre, since she had experienced the very same thing Elain was so terrified of. But every time, his mate had shot him down, insisting that Feyre wouldn’t understand. Elain clung to the belief that the visions would eventually come to pass and because of them, she turned inward and became reclusive. 

Lucien had tried to find ways to hint to Feyre that she should talk to Elain, and to her credit, she had tried. But without knowing specifically what was wrong with her sister, she hadn’t been able to be much help. Elain wouldn’t tell Feyre about the visions… and Lucien wasn’t about to betray her trust and tell Feyre himself. He shuddered at the thought. Imagining the look of betrayal and heartbreak that his mate would have if he went behind her back and told her sister about their troubles… even the thought of it caused his heart to constrict. Yet, how could he continue to do nothing and pretend as if everything was fine? As much as he did not look forward to the forced cordiality of family dinner later that night, he _was_ looking forward to his trip to the library after dinner. 

“The very soil of Prythian will shudder when Lucien Vanserra has a little hellion of his own,” Rhys chuckled, clapping Lucien goodnaturedly on the shoulder. 

“I’m pretty sure everyone said that about you, Rhys,” Lucien countered. He reached up and gripped his niece tightly and hoisted her up over his head. “Have you grown into your wings yet?” He said to Suri once he set her on the floor among a pile of toys.

The girl craned her neck in an attempt to look at her own back, where two tiny membranous wings poked through her clothes. She squeezed her eyes closed and screwed up her face with immense concentration until the wings flapped once, twice, and then sagged. 

She gave Lucien a frustrated but determined look. 

“Don’t worry,” he reassured her as he mussed her hair. “You’ll be zipping around the skies of Velaris sooner than you know it.”

“And _then_ she really will give her father a heart attack,” Cass chortled, appearing in the doorway that led to the kitchen. He leaned against the doorframe, holding a plate of french toast smothered in syrup. 

Suri squealed with delight and raced over to him. “Unca Cass!” Gesturing to his plate, she gave Cassian her absolute best pleading face. Eyes wide and hopeful and her lip puckered out. Lucien felt for Cassian—it was nearly impossible to resist when Suri laid it on that thick. He was just reaching for the plate, no doubt to offer her a small corner of toast when a cold voice stopped him in his tracks. 

“Don’t give her that,” Nesta chided. “She’ll be bouncing off the walls from all that sugar.”

Feyre glided over and knelt to scoop her daughter up into her arms. “And then I’ll make you watch her, Cass.”

Cassian backed away, guarding his plate of toast protectively. “No thank you. All mine!”

Suri poked her lip out a bit farther, pouting that she hadn’t succeeded in getting a bite of Cassian’s breakfast. 

“I swear, if we chopped her hair off, she’d be a tiny miniature Rhys,” Cass chuckled. “Which reminds me, I thought the Bone Carver implied you were having a boy.”

“I’ve often wondered about that myself,” Rhys admitted. “Though, I suppose he never specifically told Feyre that our _first_ child would be a male. So, I guess it’s possible that we might have another?”

“A tiny Rhys running around,” Lucien snorted. “Now _that’s_ just what we need.”

“Won’t be any worse than a miniature Lucien,” Rhys countered with a sly grin. “If it’s a girl, you absolutely have to name her Kit.”

“Kit,” Feyre repeated. “As in a baby fox?”

Rhysand’s grin just grew. 

“It’s actually cute,” Feyre admitted with a shrug.

Lucien wanted to bury his head in sand and never resurface. How in the world had the conversation shifted to him so abruptly? 

“Am I missing something?” Nesta asked, one eyebrow arched sharply. “Elain’s not pregnant, is she?”

“No—” Lucien began.

“But it’s just a matter of time,” Rhys cut in, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

Lucien desperately wanted to tell them all that their seemingly harmless comments were doing more harm than they could imagine. That Elain fretted and worried over their perceptions just as much as she did the visions that plagued her. Lucien often wondered if their friends’ comments only made Elain’s visions worse—as if they egged them on somehow. Of course, no one had any way of knowing that their off-hand comments were causing the Vanserras immense amounts of turmoil. They didn’t know because neither Lucien nor Elain were willing to say anything. 

“Ugh,” Nesta scoffed. “Grow up, Rhysand. They’ll have children when they choose to. Not everyone is as big of a scoundrel as you are.”

Lucien felt an overwhelming swell of gratitude toward Nesta in that moment. Over the past few years, she had genuinely warmed up to him. Now, he even considered her to be a friend. In the few years immediately following him and Elain being mated, Nesta would drop by on occasion for dinner or drinks. In those times, Lucien had been surprised to find Nesta far less abrasive than she’d ever been when they had all lived at Rhys’s. 

In fact, once she and Cass had also gotten their own place together, the general tension seemed to dissipate altogether. Living all under the same roof might have been convenient, but it had proved to be less than ideal once there were three mated pairs in such close quarters. Almost a decade later and Lucien still didn’t quite understand it, but if he had to explain it, he would only guess that so many pheromones and scents warring for dominance in one tiny household created more issues than anyone had realized. Now that everyone had their own respective homes, the chemical imbalance had righted itself. 

Lucien gave Nest a look of gratitude. She nodded but he saw the unanswered question in her eyes. _Where’s Elain?_

For what felt like the hundredth time that morning, he wished he could tell the Archeron sisters about what was tormenting his mate. But she had begged him not to, so he merely shrugged with a noncommittal glance in the direction of his own townhouse.

Rhys had sauntered over to him and threw an arm around Lucien’s shoulder. 

“Say whatever you want, Nesta,” Rhys cajoled. “But I think before we know it, there will be a couple of little foxes running around with Suri.”

He gave Lucien an exaggerated wink. 

“You’re a whole ass mess, Rhys,” Lucien huffed. “Anyway, I’d better get going. Correspondence from the other courts isn’t going to read and reply to itself.”

“Lucien, my friend,” Rhys said, “you work too hard.”

Lucien chuckled. “That’s because some of you don’t work at all!” 

“He’s got a point,” Feyre supplied. 

“It’s not my fault,” Rhys pouted. “It’s Suri’s. I mean look at her? How can I work when she’s that adorable?”

“Didn’t we say this was going to happen?” Cassian chortled. “We all said it. As soon as Rhys has a kid of his own, he’s going to turn into a puddle of goo and proceed to be absolutely useless.”

Rhys picked Suri up from her tiny mountain of toys and held his hands over her tiny tapered ears. “Don’t listen to them, munchkin. They’re just jealous they don’t get my undivided attention anymore.”

“Useless,” Nesta echoed. 

“Yoosess,” Suri crooned. 

Lucien and Cassian burst out laughing as Rhys’s eyes narrowed with feigned offense. “See what you taught her!”

“Atta girl, Suri,” Lucien said, still chuckling as he mussed the child’s hair once again. 

“Una Looten go ride?”

“Not today, kiddo,” Lucien replied gently. “Tonight’s family dinner, which means…”

“Nula!” Suri squealed gleefully.

Nuala and Cerridwen were Suri’s official babysitters on family dinner nights. The child adored the wraith twins, taking special delight in their ability to vanish into smoke and shadows.

“I’ll take you riding tomorrow,” Lucien promised her. And he knew he’d have to. For such a small child, it was uncanny how she could tell time with such precision already. Still, he didn’t mind. It had been over two weeks since he’d gotten out of the city itself—with the exception of family dinner—and he looked forward to getting out into the open countryside. 

He bid the group goodbye and made his way to the door. He could have just winnowed home, but winter was already riding the coattails of autumn. Before long, it would be far too cold to walk through the city without gloves, scarves and other winter accouterments. This morning was just brisk enough to not be unpleasant. Having lived in perpetual spring for close to two centuries, he enjoyed the bite in the air as the cold stubbornly clung to the morning, refusing to yield until at least noon. 

He really did have a pile of correspondence waiting for him back in his modest office at home, but he decided to take a small detour to the bakery. Cassian’s plate of french toast had made him hungry and he decided while he was there, he could pick up a cinnamon roll for Elain. Assuming she’d even eat it, of course. The previous times she had this particular vision, she hadn’t eaten for two days. 

All in all, he was glad family dinner was tonight and he’d have the opportunity to spend a little time with the one creature in all of Prythian that he could vent to in confidence. 

Bryaxis. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhhh my lovelies. Forgive me for such a long hiatus. My creativity has been zapped for so long and I didn't want to write while I was feeling uninspired. Otherwise, it would have felt forced. But I am delighted to say that this Wookie has finally got her groove back and I plan to write as much as possible before losing motivation again LOL. 
> 
> For everyone who has so patiently waited, I beg your forgiveness for this extremely long gap in posting. And I'm grateful to you for sticking by me.

It was after one if the afternoon by the time Lucien returned home. He hadn’t intended to be out that long, but on his way to Archie’s bakery, he bumped into Darrys and Radros—two of Rhysand’s regular correspondents from the city council. Radros had asked Lucien if he had time to sit and talk with them briefly and rather than try to schedule a meeting later, Lucien decided it would be less complicated to simply listen to their proposals at this chance meeting. So, rather than getting his breakfast to go, he sat at a small table outside the bakery and breakfasted with the two males while hearing what they had to say.

Their brief proposals turned into a lengthier conversation than Lucien had planned on. He needed to remember to thank Archie, who brought out a cinnamon roll already wrapped and packaged to go, and told Lucien to extend a greeting to Elain. The impromptu meeting broke up shortly after that, leaving Lucien free to return home at last.

As he entered the modest townhouse he shared with his mate, he noticed a fresh tray of muffins on the counter. Despite just having eaten breakfast a few hours prior, his mouth watered at the smell—pumpkin spice with a hint of caramel. The presence of the muffins filled Lucien with a glimmer of hope. This morning when he’d left, Elain had seemed to be in no mood for baking. Hoping that Nuala and Cerridwen hadn’t taken it upon themselves to make the muffins, Lucien glanced through the patio door but didn’t see Elain in the garden. 

As much as he wanted to seek her out, he _did_ have a mountain of correspondence to tend to in his office. He reminded himself that he would see her tonight at the House for family dinner and more than likely, they’d sleep there rather than return to their townhouse so late at night. With that in mind, he set the bag from Archie’s bakery containing the cinnamon roll on the counter next to the muffins and made his way upstairs.

The floorplan of their townhouse was similar to Rhys and Feyre’s, only much smaller. Whereas Rhysand’s seemed to have endless rooms, Lucien’s was more modest. Three bedrooms made up the second floor—one obviously serving as his and Elain’s, one had been converted into a small library and office, and the third remained empty, a heavy reminder that Elain’s wish to start a family had thus far remained unfulfilled.

Pushing open the door to the library, Lucien fought back the disappointment at not finding Elain inside. He had hoped his mate might have gone up to read after baking with the twins, but it seemed she had either gone back to bed or was somewhere in Velaris.

Lucien sighed as he sat behind his desk. He stared at the pile of letters off to one side but knew that just staring at them wouldn’t get any work done. 

When Rhysand asked if Lucien would serve as his formal emissary, Feyre had voiced her concern. She was worried that Lucien held bitterness and resentment toward the position, having served in that same capacity for so long in the Spring Court.

“Won’t it dreg up unpleasant memories for you?” Feyre had asked. 

“I suppose it could,” he conceded. “Though I spent enough time with Tamlin that if I elected to, I could spend the rest of eternity wallowing in memories of misery. The simple fact is that it’s a job I’m familiar with and can do well. I would rather put those skills to use helping Rhys than do something else half-assed.”

To that, Feyre had no reply. All in all, it worked out well for Rhysand. It eliminated much of the formal bureaucratic tasks that came with being High Lord. Tasks he wasn’t overly fond of to begin with. And Lucien hadn’t been lying when he said it was something he was good at. Serving as Spring’s emissary for two centuries had given Lucien plenty of experience and stepping into the role for Rhysand put him at an advantage, since he already had good relations with the administrations of the other courts.

Which was how Lucien found himself up to his eyeballs in unread correspondence on this blustery autumn day. Glancing at the clock, he decided he should be able to get through most, if not all, the letters piled on his desk before he needed to be at the House for dinner.

Setting into a comfortable rhythm, he opened each letter, read through it twice, and completed whatever task the letter required. Most of them were either requests from business owners of Velaris or matters that needed to be addressed with other courts. But the one thing they had in common was they were all addressed to Rhysand.

Lucien drafter replies and sealed their envelopes with the Night Court seal. Initially, he marveled at how differently Rhys and Tamlin handled their business. Tamlin was always more aggressive with his demands, despite the countless times Lucien had suggested Tamlin phrase them more like requests. Lucien might as well have been talking to the furniture at those times.

“I’m a High Lord. I don’t make requests,” Tamlin would bark.

“Yes, Tam,” Lucien only sighed.

In truth, dealing with Tamlin was the most uncomfortable part of his job. A familiar pang twisted through him when he thought about why he had to correspond with the High Lord of Spring directly. 

“Because you abandoned him,” Lucien muttered to himself. 

No, that wasn’t accurate. Lucien hadn’t abandoned Tamlin. Tamlin had been hell bent on a path of self-destruction. A path Lucien refused to be part of. Regardless of why or who was to blame, Tamlin was left without an emissary, requiring Lucien to correspond directly with the High Lord whenever Spring and Night had an unfortunate reason to communicate. Thankfully, it wasn’t often. When the situation did call for it, Lucien was always reminded of the stark differences between Tamlin and Rhysand. 

Whereas Tamlin had been uncompromising, Rhys managed to convey his wishes, even as demands, in a much more amicable tone. The only area where Rhys wasn’t… well, Rhys, was the Court of Nightmares.

Shortly after being invited into Rhysand’s Inner Circle, Lucien was briefed on how Keir was kept in line. Because of the bargain Rhys had made with him for his assistance with Hybern, Keir was granted periodic visits to Velaris. Though after a year or two, he stopped coming altogether. Rhys was forced to allow him to come because of their bargain, but Keir had been too stupid to negotiate the specific accommodations he expected to receive once in Velaris. An oversight that Rhys had taken full advantage of.

Lucien chuckled at the memory as he drafted a reply to the governor of the Palace of Bone and Salt, who was requesting an extension on their quarterly taxes. According to their letter, their revenue had been affected by a shipment of spoiled meat. After granting the extension they requested, he signed the letter, affixed Rhysand’s stamp below it, and sealed the envelope.

He stood and stretched, not realizing how stiff he was from sitting all afternoon. He checked the time and seeing that he only had time for two more letters at most before dinner, he decided to leave the rest for tomorrow. The stack was considerably smaller, at least. Picking up the remaining letters, Lucien shuffled through them, looking to see if any seemed particularly interesting or quick to respond to. He stopped when he saw one that was addressed to him, not Rhysand. 

On its own, that wouldn’t have been unusual. Often, correspondence was addressed to Lucien, especially from other courts, now that he was known throughout Prythian as Emissary to the Night Court. What caught his attention though, was the seal on the back of the envelope bearing his name. The wax was a blend of red and orange with a maple leaf insignia stamped into the wax. The Autumn Court. 

Lucien’s hand shook slightly as he drew the letter opener across the top of the envelope. He had dealt with the occasional correspondence from Autumn as Rhysand’s emissary but none of the letters—not a single one—had been addressed to him. Dread settled in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t sure why, but this letter gave him a deep sense of foreboding.

Inside the envelope was a single piece of parchment, the stationary emblazoned with red, yellow, and orange leaves. He unfolded it carefully, as if it were a viper poised to strike. The note was brief, scrawled in sophisticated narrow handwriting.

_My beloved son,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I do apologize for missing your birthday, but I’m afraid I’ve been very busy. You understand of course. I hope you have a blessed Solstice._

_With all my love,_

_Your Mother_

Lucien stared at the letter, his brows furrowed deeply with confusion. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary and while he did miss her, it seemed like a relatively pointless letter to send.

“Though Beron would probably have her whipped if she said anything of any real substance,” he said aloud to the empty office. 

The reality of his statement made his eyes widen. Beron _would_ have her whipped if she wrote anything aside from a seemingly harmless check in letter. Which means she would have to hide her true intention for sending a letter…

Abruptly, he tossed the letter onto the desk and began rummaging through drawers until he found what he’d been searching for. A slip of paper, barely two inches tall, with his mother’s handwriting. It had been enclosed in a note from Eris a few months ago when his brother had written to Rhysand requesting a meeting after Solstice. Since it hadn’t been urgent, Lucien had put it on Rhys’s schedule and forgotten it. But he _had_ been perplexed about the scrap of paper his mother wrote and slipped into the envelope. 

_Lucien, do you remember that ill-fitting waistcoat I sewed you for your ninth birthday? What was I thinking?_

At the time, it made no sense to Lucien. Still, he hadn’t possessed the will to dispose of something written by his mother, no matter how irrelevant it had seemed. Now, he glanced back and forth between the letter his mother sent him and the scrap of paper. They had to be connected somehow. This didn’t seem like something that would be a coincidence. He hadn’t heard from his mother since Elain had surprised him on his birthday… that had been nearly ten years ago. And now, just a few months apart, he was getting two separate pieces of correspondence from her?

The clock on the bookshelf chimed six and he cursed under his breath. He didn’t have time to ponder over this without being supremely late for dinner. He considered skipping family dinner altogether. If not for the promise of a visit to Bryaxis after dinner, he would simply stay home. But he had been holding in a lot of frustration and helplessness regarding Elain. And Bryaxis was the only creature he felt he could talk to who would be rational about the situation.

Even so, Lucien slipped both the letter and the scrap of paper from his mother into his pocket before winnowing to just outside the perimeter of the House of Wind. Cursing himself for forgetting a cloak, he climbed the remaining stairs up the mountain to reach the House.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for this chapter:  
> * Miscarriage  
> * Infertility  
> * Phobia of the dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! I've got a nice long one for you today! Full of Inner Circle debauchery and the reunion with our favorite monster of darkness :D

If family dinners had been chaotic and disorganized when Lucien first joined the Inner Circle, that chaos was exemplified now that Suri could walk. Just after she’d been born, she could be confined to a crib or an enclosed play area when she learned to crawl. Now that she could wobble on her own chubby legs—and remain upright by furiously flapping her tiny wings—it was a miracle Rhys ever managed to eat a hot meal.

Tonight, though, Rhys appeared to have a reprieve. Cassian, overgrown child that he was, occupied Suri by chasing her through the dining room with a stalk of asparagus.

“You have to eat your vegetables, Suri!” He bellowed. 

The toddler shrieked until her pitch reached a frequency Lucien was positive only dogs could hear. 

“Oh, thanks,” Mor grumbled between mouthfuls of sweet potato. “I wasn’t completely deaf yet.”

“You know the rule, Cass,” Feyre called in a sing-song voice. “Whoever works her up is responsible for getting her to sleep.”

Cassian froze in place, the stalk of asparagus falling to the floor. “Shit. I forgot.”

_ “Language!”  _ Rhys scolded.

Everyone paused, forks suspended in midair. Suri tilted her head sideways, seeming to study Cassian for a moment.

“Shit,” she repeated. Feyre hardly had time to look horrified before her daughter dissolved into a fit of laughter. “Shit shit shit.”

“Nice going, Cass,” Azriel muttered. 

Cassian had the decency to appear ashamed, though a bemused smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Extra drills?”

“For a year,” Rhys answered. “At least.”

“Good thing you’re worth it, kiddo,” Cass said with a sigh as he patted the girl’s head.

Suri took a deep breath. “Sh—” 

Cassian clapped his hand over her mouth. “Nope, we’re gonna teach you all sorts of new words. Ones that don’t get your Uncle Cass in trouble.”

He scooped her up and carried her from the dining room, mumbling as many words that rhymed with the expletive as he could think of.

Chuckling, Lucien withdrew a slip of paper from his jacket pocket and read over it before setting it on the table. 

“Everyone pay Amren, she bet the highest on Cass.”

A collective groan emitted from around the table as Rhys, Nesta, Mor, Azriel, and Lucien himself withdrew coins and tossed them in Amren’s direction. 

“One day you fools will learn to stop betting against me,” Amren clucked as she collected her winnings. 

“But obviously, today is not that day,” Feyre chuckled. 

As he folded the betting sheet to replace it in his pocket, Lucien heard Elain’s voice but when he looked up, she was still staring into her half-eaten plate of food.

_ If Cassian knows what’s good for him, he won’t teach our child to swear. _

Lucien started. He knew from her idle tone she hadn’t meant to send the thought down the bond. Still, after the vision she had this morning, for her to have that thought at all was remarkable. It usually took months for her to even entertain the idea of their having children after one of these visions. He heard her again, though it sounded as if she was replying to someone. Except he hadn’t spoken to her—neither aloud nor through their bond.

_ Shut up. You don’t know that… Leave me alone. _

Lucien’s mind was spinning again. Who in the hells was she talking to? He thought he was the only one who had that connection with her. That the bond between them made a unique form of communication that they alone shared with one another. Who the fuck was intruding upon that?

His eyes narrowed as he surveyed the room, trying to gauge by their facial expressions which one of them was speaking to Elain. He supposed it could be Rhys or Feyre, considering they were both daemati. With a sigh of frustration, he couldn’t detect any indication that anyone at the dinner table was speaking to Elain.

Just as quickly as he had been enraged at the idea, his rage was replaced with hot sickly shame. How could he have jumped to the conclusion that anyone here—his family—would intentionally or maliciously intrude upon the sacred private line of communication between a mated couple? This business with Elain’s visions was bringing out the worst in him, and he didn’t like it. These people were his closest friends in all of Prythian. Not a single one of them would deliberately deceive him.

But that led him back to his initial question. Who was she talking to?

He had let his mind wander long enough that when he shook his head in an attempt to banish the unpleasant thoughts, the rest of the Inner Circle was rising from the table and going about their respective evening activities. Though before they could fully disperse…

Rhys was reaching into the drawer for the Bryaxis sticks, but Lucien held up a hand to stop him. 

“No need, Rhys.”

“Again?” Rhysand’s eyebrows rose in calculated curiosity. “That’s three weeks in a row you've volunteered. Though, if my memory serves, you were sent back up the past two weeks."

"He likes to talk to others from time to time, too."

"So what if he sends you back up again this week?"  


“He's not getting that option.”

Feyre wandered over to Rhys’s side. 

“I think after this long, we can safely assume Lucien and Bryaxis are friends now,” she said with a smirk. 

Lucien shrugged noncommittally. “He doesn’t bother me like he does practically everyone else.”

Feyre opened her mouth to argue. 

“Don’t even try,” Lucien continued. “I know he still scares you a little.”

“I just don’t like how his voice sounds like it’s echoing through your head.”

“Well, I don’t mind it,” he insisted. 

“Fine, go have your weekly slumber party with your friend who gives Cassian nightmares.”

From somewhere in the sitting room, Cassian’s voice carried as he loudly exclaimed, “He does not!”

Feyre and Rhys simultaneously nodded and mouthed, “He does.”

Lucien snorted with a repressed laugh. As he turned to leave the dining room, Feyre said, “What’s that? Did Suri write that?”

Perplexed, Lucien turned back to her to figure out what she meant. 

“Huh?”

“That note sticking out of your pocket,” Feyre said, pointing. “She’s gotten fairly decent at the letters but she doesn’t know how to write anything that’s actual words yet. All she does is put them in random order.”

Lucien withdrew the piece of parchment from his pocket, which had been half hanging out. It was the letter from his mother, but just as Feyre observed, the back was covered with nonsensical letters grouped together. But... he had placed the note in his pocket just before winnowing up to the House. Suri wouldn’t have had an opportunity to take it, draw on it, and replace it in his pocket during dinner. 

For half a heartbeat, he was reluctant to share the letter with Feyre, but then for the second time that night, he scolded himself. There were no secrets between them… aside from the visions Elain was having. She had begged Lucien not to tell any of the Inner Circle. So he hadn’t. Though each vision made that promise more and more difficult to keep.

“I don’t think these are Suri’s,” Lucien replied warily. “It’s a letter from my mother.”

He handed the note to Feyre, whose eyes widened in obvious surprise. 

“Your mother?” She repeated softly. “But you haven’t heard from her since—”

“Since she was here, yes.”

“That’s been what? Eight years?” Rhys offered, holding his hand out. 

“Closer to ten, I think,” Feyre said, passing the letter to him. 

“Is this it?” Rhys asked after reading the succinct note.

“Except for this jumbled mess on the back, yeah,” Lucien affirmed. 

“Do you think she just didn’t realize there was anything on the back of the stationary she used?”

Lucien severely doubted it and said as much. His mother paid attention to details and this was something she was unlikely to overlook. “Plus,” Lucien added, “the writing on the back is her handwriting too.”

Feyre narrowed her eyes as she examined the note closer. “Are you  _ sure _ this isn’t just doodles from Suri?”

“I’m positive,” Lucien said, a little firmer than he had intended.

“Maybe she really just wanted to touch base with you,” Feyre offered gently.

“Perhaps…” Lucien ruminated, though his tone clearly indicated he didn’t believe Anlyn had written just to check in. There was a reason behind this letter, even if Lucien didn’t know what it was yet.

“Is Azriel available?” Feyre asked. “Maybe he could go check on her just to ease our minds.”

Rhys shook his head apologetically. “Az already left to go back to the Illyrian camps. Until Petraz recovers from his fever, Az is taking over Pet’s duties. He only came back today for dinner, even though I told him it wasn’t necessary.”

Lucien swore under his breath. After Bryaxis, Azriel was the only other one Lucien would have felt comfortable talking to about all this. Which reminded him—

“I better get down to the library before Bryaxis comes up looking for one of us,” he said.

“We’ll probably still be up when you get finished if you need to talk,” Feyre offered.

Lucien nodded but didn’t reply. As he made his way into the library and down the stairs, he sincerely doubted Feyre would still be awake by the time Lucien returned to the House. Not with as much as he had to talk about.

****************

The balls of faelight that bobbed in the air around him stopped at the second to last level. It amused Lucien that even magic fae light refused to confront the terrifying beast in the depths of the library.

_ “Ahhh, I had hoped you would be visiting me this week,”  _ Bryaxis said, his voice echoing inside Lucien’s own head.

The creature no longer frightened him whatsoever. On the contrary, Lucien had come to regard the monster as a friend. He was always fascinated at how much Bryaxis just  _ knew.  _ It wasn’t a typical historian who recorded the narratives he was told on ink and paper. No, Bryaxis just remembered everything anyone ever told him. And he never forgot or confused details. The creature was a marvel… so much that Lucien honestly forgot to be afraid of it.

“It has been a while,” Lucien admitted.

The past three weeks, one of the other members of the Inner Circle had drawn the short straw and despite Lucien volunteering to take their places, Bryaxis had requested they come instead. Lucien had once joked that he ought to just permanently volunteer to take everyone’s place, but Bryaxis refused. He said he still enjoyed talking to the others and getting their stories—even if they didn’t enjoy talking with him.

_ ”It is less enjoyable to converse with someone who is scared out of their wits of me.” _

“You’d think that by now, they’d all understand you have no desire to eat them or manifest into their greatest fears…”

_ “Fear is a difficult thing to confront. Even more difficult to overcome.” _

“Brax, my friend, that is the Cauldron’s honest truth,” Lucien said with a heavy sigh.

_ “Something troubles you.” _

The monster was nothing if not perceptive.

“If only you knew,” Lucien replied, bitterness coating his words.

_ “I believe that is why you are here. To tell me.” _

“I don’t even know where to begin.”

Bryaxis chuckled, the air around Lucien quivering as the monster laughed. For a brief moment, Lucien was reminded of the first few times he came down into this crushing blackness. Even though he had known Bryaxis had no intention to hurt him, he still felt uneasy being in the presence of a creature so dark and ancient. He had never been afraid of Bryaxis—a fact the monster had pointed out on Lucien’s first visit to its lair. All the same, Lucien still had an appreciation for the raw power and capabilities the monster possessed. Elain had once asked him to describe Bryaxis, since she had never actually seen the creature. Lucien told her to imagine smoke with teeth.

In reality, he simplified it immensely for her. Bryaxis  _ was _ like smoke with teeth—but a thick, cold smoke that was almost palpable and teeth so razor sharp they could eviscerate you before you even knew he was there.

_ “Try starting at the beginning.” _

“You know the beginning.”

_ “Do your current troubles have anything to do with your mate, by chance?” _

“However did you guess?” Lucien asked dryly.

_ “Tell me your woes, my friend.” _

So Lucien told him. Everything—even the parts Elain had asked him not to tell anyone. To be fair, she asked him not to tell anyone in their Inner Circle. She never said anything about Bryaxis. After all, who was it going to tell? One of the monster’s personal rules was that he never disclosed anything that was said to him to any of his other visitors. Lucien snorted inwardly as he realized that essentially made Bryaxis their personal therapist. He wasn’t sure how well the others would like that comparison, but it brought Lucien some sense of peace.

Lucien told Bryaxis of how Elain had developed tunnel vision on having a child. It had begun a few years after they had been mated and it only got worse once Feyre had Suri. He told the creature of the visions Elain began having. Or more accurately, the vision. Since lately, it had always been the same one. 

It had some variations, though. The first one had been of Elain miscarrying whereas the second was of her being unable to conceive at all. In the second, she had been told by a nameless faceless voice that she would be doomed to be barren for as long as she walked the earth. Lucien wasn’t sure which variation this morning’s vision had been… or if it had been some new horror altogether.

After the first, she had cried into Lucien’s chest as he stroked her back gently, whispering soothing reassuring words that it had only been a nightmare. But then the second vision occurred and neither one of them believed the first had been simply a night terror. If this morning’s vision was a clue as to the current trajectory, he had an uneasy feeling about any future visions that might occur. She had barely spoken to him all day.

Lucien told all of this to Bryaxis, who listened quietly, only interrupting to ask clarification questions. Lucien confessed his dread that Elain would never be happy again unless she managed to carry a child to term.

“I just wish I could make her understand that it truly doesn’t matter to me.”

_ “You do not wish for children?” _

“I’d like them eventually. But Elain seems hellbent on making it happen right away. Or that if she can’t, she will have failed at her purpose as a mate. I’ve told her countless times that I would never think less of her if she can’t have children. But she never seems to hear me.”

_ “Do you think she hears but simply does not believe?” _

“I don’t know anymore,” Lucien sighed. “All I know is that it feels like she’s slipping away from me.”

_ “A heavy burden indeed.” _

“And that’s not even all of it…”

_ “There is more?” _

Lucien snorted. “How much time do you have?”

_ “Considerably longer than you, I expect.” _

“Point taken,” Lucien replied somewhat abashedly. “Speaking of that, why did you even come back here? After your side of the bargain with Feyre was fulfilled, I mean. You were free. You could have gone anywhere. Done anything. Wreaked pure havoc on Prythian if you wanted.”

The pitch black darkness sighed.

_ “I was not born of Prythian but it is where I am and where I shall be until I am either destroyed or the world dies. I returned because, as I told Feyre Cursebreaker, this is my home. I have no desire to leave it. And if I had not returned, I would not have been able to enjoy the promises Feyre made.” _

“You actually like it down here?”

_ “I am protected and simultaneously left in peace. The window—” _

Lucien felt the wisps of smoke and mist curl around him. Unsure how he knew, Lucien understood that Bryaxis was pointing upward.

_ “The window allows me glimpses of the outside. And I do very much enjoy the company, though some more than others.” _

Lucien looked skyward. The ‘window’ Bryaxis had requested had been cut into the library roof. Thick layers of glass had been set into place to allow light to penetrate through the mountain into the spiraling darkness, though great care had been taken to ensure the light would not damage any of the ageless volumes stored within the library’s shelves.

“The light doesn’t even reach all the way down here,” Lucien protested.

_ “Not to your weak fae eyes. But I can see through the glass into the world above.” _

To have his vision be called weak pricked at Lucien’s pride. Fae already had superior vision, but Lucien’s golden eye allotted him abilities even the High Fae lacked. He could see through spells, enchantments, and glamours. It had been a small consolation after Amarantha ripped his own eye from its socket. Lucien shuddered. No matter how much time passed, he would never forget the excruciating pain of that wound.

“So, truly, all you wanted was better accommodations?”

_ “Eternity feels exponentially longer without one to converse with.” _

Imagining how lonely that existence would be, spending thousands of years alone in total isolation, Lucien felt he better understood the monster’s seemingly modest request.

_ “We have gotten off topic. I believe you were telling me there is more to your troubles?” _

Despite himself, a wry smile pulled at the corner of Lucien’s mouth. As he had been pondering the lonely existence of eternity with no one to talk to, he leaned against the wall, placing his hands into his pockets. In doing so, his hand brushed against the letter from his mother. And despite it being so dark that Lucien wouldn’t have been able to see his hand directly in front of his face—he knew, after all, since he tried more than once—Bryaxis had no trouble seeing through the lightless cavern. The creature would have seen the moment Lucien’s mouth turned down and his eyes drift toward the floor as he once again puzzled over his mother’s confusing letter.

_ “Your overall demeanor suggests this is something separate from your concerns about your mate.” _

“As usual, you’d be right,” Lucien replied. “It’s my mother.”

In order to properly explain why the letter was causing him so much worry, Lucien had to backtrack a bit and give some of his backstory regarding his mother. Though much of it Bryaxis was able to piece together from his preexisting knowledge about Helion being Lucien’s father.

“So, she sent me this letter and it seems innocent enough, but on the back, there’s all these nonsensical letters and I don’t know what to make of it.”

Bryaxis was silent. Utterly and completely silent. It took almost no time for Lucien to begin feeling as if the darkness was crushing in around him. He didn’t realize until this moment that the only thing that kept the obliterating blackness at bay was the mutual conversation with Bryaxis.

A flash of light from the middle of the darkness made Lucien jump back in alarm. He took pride in the fact that he had never been afraid of Bryaxis. But what he saw before him sent a shiver down his spine and burned an image in his mind that he knew he would never forget.

Bryaxis, creature of nightmares and darkness, was staring at Lucien with wide empty eyes. Eyes that were illuminated. There were no pupils, no retinas, no irises. Just two black orbs eclipsed by a ring of thin white light hovering in the darkness. To his credit, the only sign of fear Lucien showed was the involuntary gulp as his mouth went dry. The twin eclipses blinked at him. Once. Twice. Still surrounded by crushing silence.

“Umm… Brax? What’s going on? Why have your eyes never glowed like that until now?”

Despite himself, he took one half step backwards until his back was pressed against the wall.

_ “Because, my friend. You’ve never been this dense until now. I felt it would best convey my indignation if you could see my eyes.” _

Realizing that Bryaxis could see him whether or not its eyes were illuminated and not wanting to appear afraid of his friend, Lucien resisted the urge to avert his own eyes. Steeling his courage, knowing his friend would not hurt him, he stared back into the soulless orbs.

“Okay, I get your point. I’ve missed something incredibly obvious and you had to be dramatic about pointing that out. Please turn your eyes off.”

Bryaxis complied, plunging Lucien back into utter darkness the moment its eyes extinguished.

_ “Did it not occur to you that the ‘nonsensical’ letters on the back of your mother’s note are not nonsensical at all? Given everything you have told me and that which I already knew about Lady Anlyn and Beron Vanserra’s volatile relationship, would it not behoove your mother to communicate with you in a manner that which only you could read?” _

Lucien’s mouth fell open. No wonder Bryaxis made such a show of pointing out how stupid he was.

“A code,” he breathed. “It’s a coded message.”

_ “Indeed.” _

Hastily, Lucien pulled the letter from his pocket and immediately cursed his stupidity once again. It was far too dark to see anything upon the parchment.

_ “Would you like me to illuminate it for you?” _

“No!” Lucien replied a bit too urgently. “No, but thank you all the same. If it’s alright by you, I’m going to head back upstairs…”

_ “I sincerely hope it does not take you as long to decipher the message as it did to realize it was an encryption.” _

“It won’t,” Lucien replied confidently, already walking toward the staircase. After so many trips down to Bryaxis’s lair, he knew to keep his left hand against the wall until he found the staircase. It spiraled upward, so as long as he could feel the wall on his left, he would soon reach the level where the fae lights would guide him the rest of the way.

“My mother used to use ciphers with me when I was young. It was our way of talking without my brothers butting in.”

_ “May it be pleasant news.” _

“Here’s hoping. Oh and Brax?”

_ “Yes?” _

“Thanks.”

_ “My pleasure, my friend. I’ll expect you to visit next week to tell me what you have learned.” _

“Count on it.”


	5. Chapter 5

When Lucien returned from beneath the library, the House was dark and quiet. He had no idea what time it was though for everyone to have gone to bed, it must be late. There was no one in the parlor or the library as he passed through the hallway. He had just reached the bedroom he shared with Elain, his hand on the doorknob, when he paused. There was no way he could sleep right now. He had entirely too much to think about after his talk with Bryaxis. The letter from his mother practically burned inside his pocket, begging to be taken out and examined. Even now, the simple thought of it made his pocket feel heavier, as if the knowledge of the unsolved letter weighed down more than just his mind. 

If he went to bed now, he would just toss and turn all night and disturbing Elain was the last thing he wanted to do. It was increasingly rare for her to get an uninterrupted night of sleep—even when she didn’t have visions, she often had nightmares. 

Turning away from the door, Lucien retraced his steps until he reached the library. There were a few armchairs scattered throughout the room along with some round end tables. Dragging one of the tables in front of his preferred chair, Lucien withdrew the letter from his mother and smoothed it out on the table. 

He reread the short note she’d scrawled three times, but found nothing that would help him decrypt the cipher on the back. Why would she send him a cipher without a key? She knew as well as Lucien that a cipher was useless unless he had the word or number needed to decrypt the message. 

When he was a boy, she taught him to use ciphers to communicate with her without Beron or his brothers intercepting the note. Anlyn had always used a number to indicate how many letters off the cipher’s letter was from the actual alphabet. Using that pattern, he could replace each letter in the cipher with the correct letter and decode her message. 

Flipping the note over, he reread the message for a fourth time. 

_ My beloved son,  _

_ I hope this letter finds you well. I do apologize for missing your birthday, but I’m afraid I’ve been very busy. You understand of course. I hope you have a blessed Solstice. _

_ With all my love,  _

_ Your Mother _

Lucien let out a low growl of frustration. This letter contained no number for him to use. He supposed it might be his birthday, but that wouldn’t have been a very wise choice since Beron knew Lucien’s birthday too… even if he didn’t acknowledge it. Same thing with Solstice. Everyone knew the date of Solstice, so that didn’t make it much of a secret.

Lucien swore under his breath. Even though no one else was there, it felt wrong to speak at full volume in a library.

What was he missing? The note on the back was definitely a cipher, he’d come to that conclusion at least. But where was the key to translate it? His mother hadn’t sent anything else with a number in it. 

Lucien slouched in the chair, completely void of any other leads. The dim lights of the library combined with the exhaustion of the day made his eyelids heavy. During the day, the library’s wide windows allowed plenty of natural light to read by. At night, there was only a handful of lamps emitting a low warm glow. 

He had a feeling the answer to his mother’s coded message was within reach… and if he wasn’t so godsdamned tired, he could think more clearly. But his fatigue was making his mind cloudy and muddled. He just needed to close his eyes for a moment. A tall pendulum clock in the corner chimed quarter to three. He was only going to rest his eyes for a minute… 

  
************

A soft delicate hand gripped Lucien’s shoulder. He started awake, looking around his surroundings with bleary eyes. The lamps of the library were still emitting their soft dim glow. Whatever time it was, it was still dark out. 

He glanced up to see Elain standing next to the chair, still in her nightdress with her hair in a braid over one shoulder. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked. “What time is it?”

“It’s not quite four-thirty,” she replied, her voice soft and low. He silently thanked the gods for that small favor as the pounding in his head throbbed. 

_ You didn’t come to bed.  _

She spoke to him through the bond they shared—the bond that, until some hours ago, Lucien had always assumed was exclusively their own. He tried to expel the idea from his mind. It was already too full from juggling Elain’s visions, his duties as emissary, and his mother’s letter. The letter… 

He glanced at the table where the letter sat. Until he deciphered his mother’s hidden message, the knot in his stomach refused to untangle. He still didn’t know if she was writing because she was in trouble or if she simply didn’t want Beron to intrude upon a private conversation. 

With a frown, he shook his head, remembering that Elain had spoken to him through the bond and was presently staring expectantly at him for a reply. 

**_I honestly didn’t expect you to notice._ **

He winced. Even through the bond, where he could send images and emotions as well as words, it came across harsher than he intended. Hurt flashed in her eyes. It made Lucien want to kick himself. For the thousandth time, he tried to remind himself that the visions were outside her control and certainly not something she wished for. 

**_I’m sorry._ **

He said it through the bond rather than aloud so he could send his true genuine feelings of regret for the harsh words. She waved a hand dismissively, though her downcast eyes still bore some evidence of sorrow. Whether it was because of what he’d said or some other torment, Lucien didn’t know. 

“I…” She began. She closed her eyes for a long beat and took a deep breath, but when she opened her eyes, she still didn’t speak. 

Lucien stood from his armchair. Placing a gentle hand against the side of her face, he asked, “What is it?”

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head firmly, then surprised him by flinging her arms around his waist and burying her face into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer to him, and rested his cheek against the top of her head. To his dismay, he realized he couldn’t remember the last time she had embraced him like this. Like she  _ needed  _ him. 

_ I had another one.  _

Out of surprise, Lucien gripped her shoulders and drew back from her so that he could meet her eyes. 

“When? Tonight?”

She nodded. “I woke up when I went to roll over and found the bed empty. As soon as I woke, it happened.”

Lucien cursed himself. If he’d been where he belonged, sleeping soundly beside her instead of staying up all night trying to solve riddles, this would have never happened. 

“Have you ever had two this close together before?” He asked, though he was certain he already knew the answer. 

“No,” came her reply, just as he expected. Her lower lip trembled as her eyes welled. “It’s never going to happen!” She wailed. Lucien could practically feel the tomes of the library sneer at her outburst though he couldn’t be bothered to care. He pulled her back into his chest, holding her close and rubbing her back in slow circular motions. 

“I’m cursed, Lucien,” Elain sniffled against his tunic. “Cursed to never give you a child of your own.”

Every time this happened, his heart broke a little more, though not for himself. In truth, he wouldn’t care if he never had a child. If only it didn’t mean so much to his mate. 

“Elain, dove, I’ve told you before, that doesn’t—”

“It matters to  _ me!” _

“Okay,” he conceded. “Alright. Just breathe.”

He continued rubbing her back in long, soothing strokes. “Shhhhh,” he murmured against her hair. “It will happen when it’s meant to.”

“You don’t understand,” she sniffed, drawing back to look into his eyes. “It will  _ never  _ happen. I’m  _ cursed.” _

Lucien didn’t believe she was cursed. He simply believed her Seer abilities were amplifying her own fears and insecurities. But he knew by now that there was no use in arguing with her. It would only upset her further and it was shocking enough that she’d come to him instead of retreating further into herself. His fear was that she would eventually retreat so far into herself that she wouldn’t find her way back again and was determined to never let her go that far. 

“Well,” he mused, “every curse has a countercurse. We’ll just have to figure out what yours is.”

She peered at him skeptically for a long beat. “Are you patronizing me?”

“No!” He cried. Library be damned. “If you truly believe you’re cursed, then it’s my duty as your mate to help you break it.”

One corner of her mouth turned upward. Not a full smile, but closer to anything she’d had in longer than he could remember. 

She raised herself up onto the tips of her toes, closing a bit of the difference in their heights, and kissed him softly before resting her head against his chest once more. 

_ Thank you.  _

His chest tightened as he held her tightly. Just when he’d begun to fear he was truly losing her, she seemed to come back to him. Not entirely. Not yet. But she had come to him. That had to account for something. Not trusting himself to speak, he sent his reply through the bond. 

**_I love you. I will always love you._ **

“I love you, too,” she whispered. 

He kissed the top of her head before releasing her. She inhaled deeply, breathing out slowly as if to cleanse her mind and soul. She seemed to just now notice the letter on the table and, tilting her head toward it, she asked, “What’s that?”

Lucien briefly explained the letter and turned it over to show Elain the cipher on the back. Her brows creased as she studied it. 

“And she never sent you anything else that might correlate to it somehow?”

“No,” Lucien answered automatically. “She’s never sent anything else before this…”

Except she had.

Lucien swore as he thrust his hands into his pockets, withdrawing the tiny slip of paper that had accompanied Eris’s letter. 

“I forgot about this,” he said, showing it to Elain. “It was folded in with a letter Eris sent to Rhys several months ago.”

Elain read it aloud. 

_ Lucien, do you remember that ill-fitting waistcoat I sewed you for your ninth birthday? What was I thinking?  _

Elain lifted her eyes from the note to meet Lucien’s gaze. 

“Ninth birthday,” Elain said. 

“Nine,” Lucien muttered. “Nine is the key for the cipher. It has to be!”

Excitedly, he reached for a blank slip of parchment and an inkwell from the table. 

“How does it work, then?” Elain questioned. 

Quickly, Lucien explained how to use the key number to translate the cipher. “I’m going to copy her coded message to this blank sheet and show you. Here, look.”

Reaching for his mother’s letter, he cursed the low lighting of the lamps and his bleary, tired eyes. 

Elain swiped at his shoulder with the back of her hand. “You’re the High Lord of Day’s son. Can’t you make more light?”

Lucien gaped at her stupidly. Of course he could. Why hadn’t he thought to do that in the first place?

“Because, you’re hopeless without me,” Elain said with a smirk. A real, genuine smirk.

“If you only knew how true that was,” he muttered in reply. 

Closing his eyes, he took several deep breaths before envisioning a small orb of light suspended in midair above the table. The sudden brightness that shone against his closed eyes coupled with Elain’s tiny gasp told him he had been successful. Opening his left eye just a sliver, he peeked at the illuminated orb with his enchanted eye. The orb had a halo of blue light around it, which was only visible due to his mechanical eye. The eye that could detect enchantments or glamorous. 

**_You are brilliant._ **

Elain didn’t reply, but squeezed his shoulder gently. 

“How can I help?” She asked. 

“You… want to help me translate the cipher?” His tone was skeptical. He knew he shouldn’t question it, but her behavior was so contradictory to her usual demeanor these past several months. It made him both hopeful and uneasy. 

“It’s from your mother,” Elain said firmly. “I want to make sure she’s alright.”

Lucien could kiss her. 

“Alright then,” he said. He quickly jotted down the alphabet on the blank sheet of parchment. Underneath each letter, he wrote a number until he reached nine. At the tenth letter, he began writing the alphabet again, Elain watching him from over his shoulder. When he was through, he said, “Can you read out the ciphered letters to me?”

Elain did as he asked, and he copied them down beneath the alphabet he’d written above. When Elain finished reading, he glanced down at the cipher and compared it to his mother’s letter to ensure he copied it down in the correct groupings. 

_ VORTKCP FEV DFEKY SVWFIV JFCJKZTV Z NZCC KRBV DP CVRMV FW RLKLDE. _ _   
_ _ PFL TRE MZJZK NYVIV KYV JLE JYZEVK SIZXYKVJK. _

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Elain complained. 

“It doesn’t now,” Lucien countered. “But once we decipher it… Watch. So the first letter in her message is a V, right? Check the key we made using the nine and see what letter that correlates to.”

Elain drew her finger down the list of letters until she found the correct line. “E,” She said.

Lucien wrote the letter below the two lines of ciphered text. They worked in unison with each letter until Lucien had written out the full translated message.

_ Exactly one month before solstice I will take my leave of autumn. You can visit where the sun shines brightest. _

He read it twice, allowing the message to sink in. Yet even decoded, her note was not direct, lest anyone of the Autumn Court intercept it, decipher it, and ferry it back to Beron. 

“What does it mean?” Elain breathed, reading the message over his shoulder. 

“It means,” Lucien said with more calm than he felt, “that she is leaving Beron. And going to the Day Court at last.”

Elain gripped his shoulder. “Oh, Lucien, is she truly?” 

“And exactly one month before solstice…” Lucien trailed off. He surged out of the armchair and reached for a pile of documents on a nearby table, looking for the calendar. 

“That’s less than three weeks from now,” he breathed. Not even taking notice of what he was doing, he reached for a blank sheet of paper and a pen. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I have to reply to her.”

“No, right now, you have to sleep,” Elain said firmly. 

“I’m not tired,” he said. Even as the lie escaped his lips, his weariness seemed to magnify. The rushes of adrenaline while solving his mother’s riddle had vanished completely now that her message was revealed. 

“It’s not polite to lie to your mate,” Elain retorted. “You’re so exhausted you haven’t even noticed that your little ball of light has extinguished and that the sun is rising.”

She was right on both accounts, Lucien reluctantly realized. The wide floor-length windows of the library no longer reflected the shelves and books and tables in their inky blackness. There was a soft blue glow from outside the window coupled with a thin strand of orange where the sun had begun to rise behind the mountains.

Without warning, Lucien’s exhaustion returned. It struck him like a sack full of bricks landing on his shoulders. He eyed the chaise lounge on the opposite side of the shelves, content to lie down there. Even the short trek from the library to his and Elain’s room seemed too far. 

Seeming to guess his intentions, Elain slipped an arm around his waist. “Absolutely not. We’re going back to bed.”

“We?” He repeated, his voice thick and heavy with sleep. 

“If you recall,” she said sweetly, “I didn’t sleep well either these past two nights.”

Lucien allowed himself to be led back to their room. He barely remembered kicking off his boots, slipping out of his trousers and tunic, and collapsing into bed. He felt the tendrils of sleep weaving themselves around him the moment his head hit the pillow and his last conscious thought was that of his mate slipping beneath his arm and curling herself against his side. 


	6. Chapter 6

When Elain woke, all she could think about was how sweltering hot she was. Though, considering the heavy quilt she slept beneath, the flannel nightdress, the magic that heated the House in cooler months, and the natural heat Lucien radiated, it was no wonder she was roasting. 

Lucien was still asleep, lying on his side with his arm draped over Elain’s abdomen. She tried shimmying sideways to slip out from beneath his arm without waking him, but the movement only made him tighten his hold. If she didn’t get out from under these stifling layers, she was going to have a heat stroke. 

Turning her head, she managed to peer at the clock on the nightstand. It was already after noon. For a moment, she chastised herself for sleeping this late, but then conceded that it made up for the fact that she hadn’t gone to bed until probably five or six that morning. She felt sweat pooling at the small of her back and grimaced. There was nothing for it. She was going to have to wake him. 

Elain rolled onto her side to face her mate. “Are you awake?”

From his slow, steady breathing, she knew he wasn’t, but felt it was kinder to ask first before shaking him awake. 

When he didn’t move, Elain nudged him on the shoulder. “Love, wake up.”

Nothing. 

She took his hand, still resting on her stomach, in her own and lifted it off her. Instantly, she felt a hint of relief, though the nightgown was still too hot. She also needed Lucien to wake up so he could withdraw the heat from the fireplace. The fire no longer crackled but the embers still produced a good amount of warmth. 

“Lucien,” she said a bit louder. “Wake up.”

Groggily, he opened his eyes and smiled lazily at her. “Good morning.”

“Good afternoon,” she corrected with a grin. 

Lucien blinked a few times as her correction registered. “What time is it?”

“Almost a quarter to one.”

“Gods, we’ve slept half the day away,” Lucien bemoaned. 

“But you didn’t go to sleep until practically dawn,” Elain objected. “So it’s justified.”

“If you say so,” he replied with a yawn. 

“Well, now you’re awake, can you do something about the fireplace? I’m burning up.”

“Sorry,” Lucien automatically replied. 

Elain felt slightly guilty. She knew Lucien produced a good amount of heat naturally, though lately, they hadn’t been sleeping wrapped in each other’s arms so she had taken to wearing thicker night clothes. That had worked against her favor this morning, she realized too late. 

While Lucien tended to the smouldering embers, Elain threw the covers off her and got out of bed. She peeled the thick flannel nightdress over her head and threw it into a corner. Loose strands of hair that had fallen free from her braid stuck to her back. She was in desperate need of a bath. 

She turned around to say as much to Lucien and mentally kicked herself. Lucien was staring hungrily at her, his eyes full of desire. She couldn’t blame him… she was stark naked and it had been months since they’d been intimate. She was to blame for that, of course, but the visions just sucked any feelings of arousal or desire from her. They kept taunting her with horrors of being barren or not carrying to term, so to prevent any chance of them coming true, she had all but become celibate. The visions couldn’t come true if she never got pregnant. 

Still, it was cruel to Lucien. She knew it, but she just couldn’t bring herself to risk any chance of conceiving a child she might lose. The visions were painful enough—having one come to pass would likely kill her.

But right now, she couldn’t ignore the way her mate was staring at her. For the first time in months, it awoke something within her. She found herself not caring about pregnancies or offspring or visions… she just wanted him. Her mate.

Instead of making her way to the bathing room, she returned to the bed… though she made sure the heavy quilted comforter was thrown to the floor. Lucien stood halfway between the bed and the hearth, stunned into silence. 

“Come back to bed, my love,” Elain crooned. 

Lucien obeyed, slipping beneath the sheet without a word. Elain rested her head against his shoulders, her fingernails lightly dragging across his bare chest, making him shiver. 

“I’ve missed you,” she murmured against his neck. 

“I’ve always been here,” he said softly. 

“I know,” Elain replied, “It’s not your fault. I’ve just been struggling to focus. Between the visions and—”

She cut herself off. She had almost mentioned the Whisperer. She wasn’t entirely sure why she didn’t tell Lucien about it, but something inside her told her to keep that detail to herself. They would all think she was crazy, like she had been when she first came out of the Cauldron. Sometimes, she feared she was reverting back to that state and there was nothing she could do to stop it. 

“And?” Lucien pressed. 

“Nothing,” Elain lied. “It’s just a lot that weighs on me and I feel lonely while I sort through it all.”

“You don’t have to be,” Lucien said, one hand stroking her back while the other rested on her shoulder, his thumb making idle motions on her arm. “Give me some of that weight. Let me help you bear it.”

Elain just smiled ruefully. His heart was in the right place, but he just didn’t understand. He didn’t live plagued by fear of a future that could come to pass if they were careless. Even so, the longer his hand made circular motions on her lower back, the more she found herself wanting him. 

“I don’t want to talk about this right now,” she declared, scooting closer to him. She pressed he mouth to his neck and kissed up his jaw. When she spoke again, her mouth was barely an inch from his. “I don’t want to have to think right now. I just want… this.”

“It’s always been yours,” he answered breathily. 

“Good,” was all Elain said before she closed her mouth against his. 

Since the visions began, Elain still kissed her mate, but they’d been insignificant, obligatory kisses. Kisses goodbye before one of them left the house, kisses before turning the lights out and going to sleep, None had really been kisses of real substance. None had been kisses like this one. 

This one awoke that fire that Elain worried had been all but snuffed out when the visions started. This one was full of the heat and passion that reminded Elain of the weeks right after they were Mated. When they couldn’t get enough of each other. 

Lucien groaned as Elain weaved her fingers into his hair and gripped it tightly. Her tongue met his, their mouths crashing into one another in a dance they knew well but had neglected for quite some time. Lucien’s hands raked up her back, clutching her tightly to him. He brought one hand around to cup the side of her face, his fingers brushing against her ear as he pulled her mouth harder against his. 

Despite the months of absent intimacy, Elain moaned, heat settling in her core as her desire strengthened. She slung her leg over his lap, straddling him. Lucien angled his hips away from her, eliciting a pout. At this point, she didn’t care how he took her. Just as long as he did it immediately. 

She fisted his hair again and pulled him into her. He made no sound of objection as he took her breasts in his hands and brought one to his mouth. Elain hissed as he drew her nipple between his teeth. 

_Damn you_ , she sent down the bond just as he flicked his tongue, her nipple still caught between his teeth. But he was her mate, for an entire decade now, and he knew just what drove her wild. Lucien’s hand moved down her chest, her abdomen, and lower still. Elain pulsed with desire when his deft fingers reached the apex between her thighs. 

“Oh my gods,” he murmured, his breath hot on her bare chest. 

She was inclined to agree, she thought to herself as he stroked the length of her. Perhaps it was the length of time that had passed since they were last intimate, but she felt as if every nerve in her body was electrified. 

Her breath hitched when Lucien slid his finger into her, giving her satisfaction and a desire for more all at once. She leaned forward, her body pressed against his as Lucien wound his free hand into what remained of her braid. He drew his finger out and brought it to his mouth. Elain had to fight the urge not to climax right then and there. 

As he moved to return his finger to her slick folds, Elain swallowed heavily and said, “Love, if we’re going to do this, we better hurry. I won’t last long at this rate.”

“No,” Lucien replied, his finger just at the edge of her entrance. 

“No?” Elain puzzled with a whine. He couldn’t possibly get her this worked up just to stop now, could he?

“There will be plenty of time later for lovemaking. Right now, I just want this.”

She sat back, still straddling his lap and trying not to focus on how badly she wanted him inside her. “This?”

“This,” he repeated, sliding his finger inside her once more. 

Elain let out an involuntary moan. “But… but we—we shouldn’t waste an opportunity to—to—to…”

Lucien was rotating his finger inside her, making it hard for her to think straight. She was beginning to pant, trying to catch her breath long enough to speak.

“To conceive a child,” she choked out breathlessly. 

Lucien’s finger stilled. His eyes lost the sultry glaze and became entirely focused. Serious.

“Giving you pleasure is _never_ a wasted opportunity,” he declared, his tone inarguable. “We _will_ have a child one day if that is your choice, but today that isn’t my concern. Today,” his voice dropped, turning raspy until he practically growled, “my only objective is to make your toes curl.”

Elain turned to liquid, her center throbbed with arousal. Without realizing what she was doing, she angled her hips toward him, eliciting a chuckle from deep within his throat. 

“Is that you giving me permission to continue, dove?”

She didn’t trust herself to speak but by the mercy of the Mother, they had alternate ways of communicating. 

**_The House is empty you know…_ **

_Is that your way of telling me you want me to scream?_

Lucien gave her a feral smile as he sunk two of his long, slender fingers inside her, Elain gasping as he entered her. The rhythm of her hips matched the pace of his fingers pumping into her. Elain gripped Lucien’s shoulders as she ground her hips against his hand, pleasure mounting in her with every thrust. 

Lucien’s fingers curled inside her just as the heel of his hand pressed hard against her apex. Elain’s vision went blurry and she cried out in ecstasy as her climax ripped through her. Lucien didn’t stop—Elain had gone rigid but he still pumped into her until shockwave after shockwave rolled through her. 

Elain was gasping for breath by the time Lucien finally slid his fingers out of her. She collapsed against him, her thighs quivering. Still trying to catch her breath, she spoke down their bond. 

_Well, now I feel guilty._

**_Why?_ **

_I am completely spent. I doubt I have the necessary energy to repay you in kind._

**_I told you my love, today was about you._ **

_But_ —

He kissed her brow and smoothed several errant hairs away from her face. 

**_No buts. It’s been far too long since you took a moment wholly for yourself._ **

Elain clutched him tighter. She didn’t know many things with utmost certainty, but she was positive she didn’t deserve the complete devotion he gave her.

**_You deserve the world._ **

_Tsk, tsk, tsk. No eavesdropping._

He pinched her hip in response. Only then did Elain realize she was hungry. She barely ate anything at dinner the night before, a decision she was now regretting. 

“Are you hungry?” She asked aloud. 

“Starving,” Lucien said.

Elain moved to get up from the bed but Lucien stopped her. “You stay here, I’ll go scrounge up something from the kitchen.”

She offered him a weak smile of thanks. In truth, she wasn’t sure if she could even walk yet. Lucien slipped his trousers on, pulled his tunic over his head, and kissed Elain’s temple before disappearing into the hallway. 

Elain nestled back down onto her pillow, pulling the sheet up to her neck. Now that all the sources of heat were gone, she was chilly. She felt slightly guilty for being so indulgent today, but there were no pressing matters that required her attention, and Lucien had been right about one thing. It had been entirely too long since she took a day for herself. 

Perhaps after they ate, she and Lucien could go back into the city and—

_I know what you fear…_

Dread pooled in her heart. Elain squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the sickly sweet voice that buzzed inside her head. She had been a fool to hope it would leave her alone long enough to have a moment’s peace. She was honestly surprised she had been able to block it from her mind long enough to have the rare bit of pleasure moments ago. 

_I know what you fear…_

Elain focused all her attention on keeping her mind blank and her mental walls up as Feyre had taught her. She desperately wanted to tell the voice to leave her alone, but she tried that last night at dinner and was almost positive Lucien heard her. She had no idea how to explain what she was hearing without sounding like she’d gone completely and utterly mad, so she kept the Whisperer a secret, only telling Lucien about the visions. 

When she woke last night—this morning—her entire body had gone rigid. Paralyzed by the vision overtaking her, she could do nothing but wait for it to end. Oddly enough, the most recent vision had been even worse than the one from yesterday. More vivid and detailed. Yet, after it passed, her first instinct had been to seek out her mate. 

She didn’t like shutting him out, but until last night, he never seemed to believe her when she insisted the visions were real—that they were scenarios doomed to come true. But early this morning when she found him asleep in the library, he agreed to help her break whatever curse was dooming her to be the end of Lucien’s bloodline. Perhaps, with his help, they could uncover why these visions kept happening and stop them. 

_He only told you what you wanted to hear. He doesn’t believe you._

Closing her eyes again, she breathed in deeply as she counted. When she reached ten, she exhaled quietly. Once again, she yearned to tell the voice to leave. Lucien had gone to check the kitchen for something to eat. Perhaps if she reinforced her mental walls just for a moment… 

_Leave me alone!_ She shouted wordlessly to the wretched voice. 

_You know I speak the truth. You can lie to your mate. You can even lie to yourself, but I see the truth. Your mate is only telling you what you want to hear._

Elain wailed a cry of frustration. The voice, just like her visions, was relentless. Throwing the quilted comforter off herself, she got up from the bed. Her nightdress still lay discarded on the floor, Elain shivered despite the fireplace crackling warmly. Courtesy of Lucien, of course. She hurried into the bathing room and turned the tap on for the tub, as hot as she could stand. Haphazardly, she tossed in oils and balms until the bath frothed with bubbles and smelled strongly of eucalyptus. 

She barely reacted as she sunk herself into the scalding water, submerging herself completely and holding her breath for as long as she could. When she surfaced, she heard the bedroom door creak open and close again. 

“Elain?”

She didn’t want to answer. Any bit of joy and contentment she felt earlier this morning had been burned to ash by the Whisperer. As if thinking its name was enough to summon it, the voice floated in, echoing on the bathing room walls. 

_What you fear will destroy you. No one will understand. No one will know what you feel. You will be utterly alone._

“Elain?” Lucien called louder. 

He appeared in the doorway of the bathing room. 

“I found some biscuits and jam but that was about all those heathens left. I left them in the bedroom if you want any. I—what’s wrong?”

She suppressed her urge to grimace. Her mate had an uncanny ability to notice the moment her mood shifted. 

“I’m not hungry anymore,” she mumbled. 

“What happened?” He moved to sit at the edge of the tub, but she shifted her hips, angling her body away from him. The Whisperer was right—he wouldn’t understand. Last night, when he told her they would find a solution for her curse, he hadn’t been genuine. He probably just said that to ease her mind for the moment.

 _That’s right_ , the Whisperer crooned. _He thinks you’re overreacting. He only said that to shut you up about it._

She didn’t want to believe that could be true. She knew Lucien better than that…

_You think you do. But the longer you fail to provide him offspring, the farther he will slip away from you._

“Nothing,” she replied listlessly. 

“Well something had to have happened,” he protested. “You were fine when I went downstairs.”

“I’m still fine,” she barked. “I’m just not hungry.”

Lucien’s long exhale was full of doubt. She knew he didn’t believe her. Neither of them spoke as the minutes dragged on. She knew he was waiting, hoping for an opening, like she had given him last night. But any hope she gleaned this morning had been extinguished. Doused as effectively as a gallon of water over a struck match. She felt hollow and empty once more. 

Lucien waited another moment and finally sighed. “I promised Suri I would take her riding today. It’s already past one and if I don’t show up—”

“Go,” she said. She was glad she wasn’t facing him. Glad he couldn’t see the relieved expression painted on her face. She hated herself for it, but she couldn’t muster the energy to fake pleasantries. After two visions in under twenty-four hours, she felt as if a herd of stallions had trampled her so far into the ground she would never resurface. 

“Do you want me to wait to take you back?”

“No, I’ll manage.” She wished he would just hurry up and go. The longer he lingered, hoping she would change her mind, the more it made her chest ache. As if the despicable voice knew this, it crooned inside her head once again. 

_He goes to see the child because he has none of his own. And whose fault is that?_

Elain bit back a sob as Lucien finally gave up. He leaned over, kissed the top of her hair, and rose from his perch on the side of the tub. 

“I’ll see you at home,” he said from the doorway, though he didn’t wait for her to reply. Probably didn’t want to wait for her to contradict him. Covering her face with her hands, she plunged herself back beneath the surface of the water and stayed under until she could no longer hold her breath. 

*********************

Once she was dry and dressed, Elain called on Nuala and Cerridwen. The wraith twins could pass through stone and shadow without a thought. Occasionally, they would take Elain to or from the House of Wind if she didn’t travel with anyone from the Inner Circle. She could always walk down the stairs until she reached the point where the wards ended, but the dark clouds overhead made Elain suspect a storm was not long off. For Suri’s sake, she hoped the weather held out until after the child’s horseback ride. 

The twins materialized on the opposite end of the room, having appeared through the wall. 

“Oh, Miss Elain, we were just coming to tell you,” Cerridwen said cheerfully. 

“Tell me what? And for the Mother’s sake, it’s been nearly ten years. When are you going to stop calling me ‘Miss Elain’ and just Elain?”

“Probably never,” Nuala said. “And we came to tell you Aridea and Briar just arrived. We thought we would let you know.”

Relief flooded through Elain. She hadn’t wanted to return home to her townhouse just yet, but staying up at the House by herself didn’t appeal to her either. It had been a few weeks since she had seen either female and she was looking forward to catching up with them. 

Granted, she hadn’t told either one about the Whisperer or her visions, but she enjoyed their company and they helped take her mind off things. 

“Thank you!” She said, giving each twin a brief, one-armed hug before dashing into the hallway and down to the parlor. 

“You’re back!” Elain exclaimed.

“Elain!” the first female shrieked. “Oh you’re already here!”

She gripped Elain’s wrist and pulled her for a tight embrace. The girl was petite and fair skinned, much like Elain, though her hair was the color of sunshine. Elain and Briar had bonded after the girl returned from the Winter Court. She spent a year there following the war with Hybern, but eventually asked if she could come to Velaris. Though they weren’t kept captive in the same tent of the Hybern camp, they had both undergone torment at the hands of the cruel king. Or in Briar’s unfortunate case, the king’s soldiers. Elain had taken to teaching Briar how to garden and the girl had quite an affinity for it. It had taken Elain almost four years to get the girl to open up to Azriel about how she felt. There had been a time Elain wondered if the two would just pine over one another for eternity. Thankfully, Elain had an insider’s perspective since Azriel confessed his affections to Lucien… who in turn, hinted that to Elain. She was happy for her friends—they were perfect for one another and even though Elain had only known Azriel for a short while, Cassian and Rhys had known him for much, much longer and both agreed their friend hadn’t been this happy in centuries. 

“Aridea look!” Briar called. “She’s already here!”

“Yes, I can see that,” the female called Aridea replied with a bemused smile and amusement dancing in her grey eyes. 

She was tall for female standards, and more graceful than her height would suggest. Her ebony hair cascaded down her back in long, loose waves. Her bluish grey eyes bore a stark contrast with her rich mahogany complexion. A thin strip of shimmery gold eyeshadow always made Elain think of a sun rising from behind storm clouds.

Aridea had originally accompanied Briar from the Winter Court. She came to ensure the girl got settled and lingered in case the girl changed her mind. But, as most do, Aridea fell in love with Velaris. Or that’s what she claimed, at least, if anyone teased her about why she really stayed. 

She would tell anyone who would listen that she fell in love with the energy and vibrancy of the city. Of the music and colors and life. Though anyone who knew her saw through that front. They knew what Aridea truly fell in love with was the Morrigan, not her city. But, oh how fiercely they loved one another. Mor and Aridea were like two sides of the same coin—it was impossible to have one without the other. 

When Briar finally released her, Elain hugged Aridea tightly. “I’m so glad you’re back! It feels like it’s been much longer than two months.”

“I’m just glad we got back before the snow started,” Briar said as she removed her gloves and cloak. “We’ve been in snow for two solid months. I’m glad to have a break before it settles over Velaris.”

“We assumed no one would be here, given how late in the day it is,” Aridea mused. 

“I didn’t sleep well last night,” Elain admitted. “So, I slept most of the morning. I was actually getting ready to go back down into Velaris when the twins told me you were back.”

“I told Mor we were on our way back,” Aridea said, “though she and the boys are tied up doing… something for Rhys today. It’s impossible to keep track of their assignments.”

“So, what you’re telling me,” Elain began hopefully, “is we can stay here tonight and catch up before having to return to the city tomorrow?”

“That’s the plan!” Briar announced with delight. 

“Good,” Elain said, sighing with relief. “Because I have a lot to tell you.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I don't intentionally wait so long to post. I post as I write but here lately, the story isn't coming to me as easily as Daylight did. Plus, I'm reading Throne of Glass for the first time ever, so I'm going through spells of no Elucien inspiration. But these characters mean the world to me, so I'm really trying to get back to regular posting. My goal is to have Afterglow finished by the time ACOSF publishes.

By the time Lucien reached the row of townhouses, he could hear Suri shrieking from the patio garden. He didn’t even have a chance to open the waist-high gate—the child bolted toward him and bounced on the balls of her feet until he picked her up. 

“Unca Looten go ride!” 

“Yes, Suri,” Lucien said wearily. “We’ll go ride.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Lucien could see Rhys watching him carefully. “What’s up?”

_ Damn observant bastard,  _ Lucien thought. 

“I’m fine,” he said without any real conviction. 

“Liar,” Rhys replied. “If you need to postpone, she can wait—”

“I promised I would take her,” Lucien objected. 

“And she will learn that sometimes, plans have to change.”

“She’s too young to learn disappointment.” Lucien adjusted his hold on the toddler so that she was sitting against his side, resting against his hip. “I’ll be back with her in a few hours. If you see Az, tell him I need to talk to him later.”

Rhysand’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Anything pertinent for me to know?”

“Probably,” Lucien replied. “My mother’s leaving Autumn.”

“What?! Luce, that’s not something you slip into casual passing conversation!” Rhys proclaimed indignantly. “We have to make a plan to help her get out. We have to figure out where she’s going. We have to… Gods above. Suri’s ride can wait. We have a lot to discuss, it seems.”

“And we will,” Lucien promised. “As soon as I get back from the stables with Suri. Just tell Cass and Az we’re moving guys’ night up a week to tonight.”

Rhys nodded fervently. “I’ll go replenish our stock of spirits. Something tells me we’re going to need it.”

“Good,” Lucien chuckled. “Because Cass lost miserably at ‘I’ve Never’ last month so I’m sure he’s coming in prepared this time.”

Rhys chortled as he clapped Lucien on the back. “Fine, stubborn ass. Take Suri for a ride and we’ll talk later.”

Lucien had already begun walking away from the townhouse, preparing to winnow to the stables, when Rhys called out to him. 

“And I expect the full story when you get back tonight.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Lucien grumbled. 

Suri screeched with delight when Lucien winnowed them out of the city. 

  
*************************

Once they reached the stables, Lucien put Suri down so he could saddle his horse. He knew one of the stable attendants would do it if asked, but Lucien enjoyed the work. It reminded him of days he would patrol Spring’s borders. At times, he missed the solitude of the forest. He wouldn’t trade his life here in Velaris with Elain and his family for anything, but there were times when he simply reflected on how much his life had changed. 

His horse, a chestnut stallion named Vulcan, stood obediently while Lucien saddled and bridled him. Once he was finished, he scooped up Suri, plopped her into the saddle, and climbed up to sit behind her. He knew once they got out of the stable and onto the open hillside, she would beg to ride atop his shoulders—and Lucien would yield to her. 

Sure enough, once he reached the open fields behind the stable, he coaxed Vulcan into a canter, which was Suri’s cue to scramble up onto Lucien’s shoulders. One hand on the reins and the other holding Suri’s feet tightly against his chest, Lucien urged the horse into a full on gallop. Suri squealed with unbridled delight, flapping her tiny wings into the wind as the horse ran. 

Lucien’s shoulders would be bruised in the morning from the girl bouncing in time with the horse’s gallop. It would be worth it, though, to hear those shrieks of delight. They galloped until they reached the edge of the treeline, where Lucien finally slowed the horse back to a walk. A few minutes later, they reached a stream that Lucien knew stretched into the forest where it widened into a deep pond, fed by a waterfall. In the summer months, Suri would splash around the stream with her shoes off. Today though, it was much too brisk for her to get in the water. Feyre would filet him and serve him up for dinner if he allowed the child to catch a cold. Lucien hoisted his niece from his shoulders and set her in the saddle before dismounting, tethering Vulcan to a nearby tree. He left the lead slack enough to allow the horse to drink from the stream. The moment Suri’s feet touched the grass, she bounded off to the trees. 

“Find me!” She cried. 

Lucien indulged her, playing half a dozen rounds of seek and find with her until she grew tired of the game and wandered over to a sizeable boulder. Climbing up onto the rock, Suri leapt into the sky and flapped her wings in earnest. She landed on her feet but tumbled from the momentum. The rock was only a few feet high, so she was at no risk of hurting herself. Nonplussed, she climbed back up and tried once more. Lucien leaned against a tree to watch her. When he heard his name hissed from a neighboring tree, his shoulder slipped as he fumbled. He peered around wildly, but didn’t see anyone besides Suri. Perhaps he just imagined it…

_ Luciennnnnn.  _

The speaker was closer now. It sounded like it was standing right behind him, but when he spun around, there was still no one there. 

“Who’s there?” He demanded in a hissed whisper. He didn’t want to scare Suri, even as his own heart beat wildly against his chest. “Show yourself.”

_ You don’t need to see me to hear me.  _

The voice reminded him a bit of Bryaxis. It had that same echoing sensation inside his head. Though whereas the library monster’s voice was innocuous and almost amused at times, this voice was devoid of any warmth or kindness. 

“What do you want?” Lucien asked, his voice still low so as not to raise Suri’s attention. He didn’t know how he knew, but he suspected the girl couldn’t hear the bodiless voice and didn’t want to appear insane by talking to himself. 

_ I know what you fear… _

Lucien’s blood turned cold. Not just from the voice’s cold indifference, but from the actual content of its statement. He hadn’t confessed his most recent fear to anyone aside from Bryaxis. The library monster knew a person’s fears but something in his gut told Lucien this… thing was nothing like Brax. 

“That wasn’t the answer to my question,” Lucien said in a hushed voice.

_ Never you mind what I want.  _

“A bodiless voice shows up and makes foreboding comments and I’m supposed to just take it in stride? I think not.”

_ What you fear will come to passssssssss.  _

Lucien tried to ignore the voice’s taunt. After all, almost everyone had multiple things they feared. This sinister-sounding voice didn’t necessarily know all of them. 

_ Yes, I do. _

Lucien’s eyes narrowed. So, the thing could hear his thoughts. He closed his eyes for a long beat and when he opened them, he directed all his energy into his metallic eye, trying to locate any sort of glamour or concealment that was keeping this stranger from view. 

_ You can’t see me. _

“Too cowardly to appear to me then?” Lucien goaded. “Have to hide behind some enchantment to taunt people?”

_ You cannot see me because I do not exist in corporeal form. _

“Well, that’s a pity,” Lucien sneered. “Because I was so looking forward to running my dagger through your heart.”

_ Now now. That’s not even the least bit polite.  _

“Neither is swimming around my head and throwing taunts around.”

_ Perhaps I simply came to warn you. _

“Warn me of what, exactly?”

A chill settled on the clearing. The leaves rustled though no gust of wind had given them cause to move. 

_ That you will be alone and heirless sooner than you think.  _

Lucien forced his voice to remain steady as he said, “I’m no Lord. I have no need for an heir.”

_ Yet you want one, all the same. _

Lucien swallowed thickly and with a forced calm, he said through gritted teeth, “If you aren’t going to materialize so I can beat the living hell out of you, get the fuck away from me. Right now.”

The voice didn’t reply, though Lucien heard a sinister chuckle growing fainter and fainter until there was silence once more. An unnatural silence lingered for several minutes after the laughter died. As if coming out of a dense fog, the sound of different laughter—joyous and innocent—filled the clearing.

“Wheee!” Suri shrieked, jumping off the boulder again, flapping her wings as hard as she could. 

Lucien shook his head to clear out any lingering unpleasantness. He tried to tell himself that it had just been a figment of his overactive imagination, but a twisted uneasy feeling settled in his gut. He feared he hadn’t heard the last of that horrible voice. 

He allowed Suri a few more attempts to fly until he could sense her frustration at not staying airborne. Her expression had shifted, her determined eyes now scowling and her mouth set in a tight line. That was his cue that it was time to head back. 

“Come on, little one,” he called out to her. “Ready to fly back?”

She hurried over to him, her arms raised, indicating she wanted to be picked up. Lucien gathered up the girl, climbed back up into the saddle, and began the trek back to the stables with Suri riding atop his shoulders once more. 

*************************

“See, told you we wouldn’t be gone long,” Lucien said as he deposited a sleeping Suri into Feyre’s arms. “And I succeeded in wearing her out so she’ll sleep good for you tonight.”

“Don’t bet on it,” Feyre countered. “She’ll be up at three a.m. wanting a snack.”

“Well, I suggest you have one ready for her then,” he smirked at her.

“It’s all fun and games for you now,” Feyre chided. “Wait til you have your own.”

Lucien scoffed. “Which, at this rate, will be never.”

Feyre cocked one eyebrow at him, but thankfully, didn’t press for any additional details. Yet. He knew the interrogation would come later. 

“Since you boys abruptly moved guys night up, we don’t have any plans to go anywhere nor do we have a sitter,” Feyre grumbled. “So you’re either going to have to have your night of boozehound debauchery quieter than you’ve ever been in your lives or you’re going to have to go back up to the House.”

“The House is occupied,” Rhys replied. 

“By whom?” Lucien wondered aloud.

“Your mate, for one,” Rhys said cautiously. Clearly, he hadn’t realized that Lucien didn’t know Elain was staying up at the House for another night. “She’s there with Aridea and Briar,” Rhys went on. “Nuala told me they were staying the night.”

Lucien attempted to not look surprised. Elain certainly didn’t have to tell him her every move, though he would have been worried about her if he’d gone home to find her missing with no word of where she might be. It stung that she appeared to be confiding in her friends instead of him, especially when their issue was something so… personal. Still, he hoped that a night at the House with her friends would help her.

“Then, my house will be empty,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound as sullen as he felt.

“That’s settled, then,” Rhys announced. “We’re going to Lucien’s.”

The self-satisfied nod he gave Feyre made it seem like going to Lucien’s had been Rhys’s idea from the start. Lucien snorted softly. 

  
*************************

Some hours later, Lucien sat in his well-worn armchair while the bat boys, as Elain and Feyre so affectionately referred to them, chortled and bickered over who had flown the farthest without stopping. 

“Look, if I had to take a wild guess, my bet would be Az, since the two of you,” Lucien pointed from Cassian to Rhysand, “can’t seem to avoid an opportunity to preen or run your mouths.”

“How surprising,” Cassian drawled. “Choosing your best friend’s corner.”

“Can’t argue with facts, Cass my friend,” Lucien said with a smirk. 

“I do not ‘preen,’” Cassian objected, even as he glanced up at his wings and adjusted them.

“Of course you don’t,” Lucien conceded, still smirking.

“Anyway,” Rhys said loudly, capturing their attention. “We have important shit to discuss. Then we can get back to roasting one another properly.”

“What’s this big news, then?” Azriel asked. 

“My mother sent me a letter stating that she is leaving Autumn,” Lucien said quietly. 

The news seemed to have the expected effect. The two Illyrian warriors went silent, Cassian’s mouth dropping open while Azriel brought his hand to his chin, already calculating. 

“How in the hells are we going to pull this off, then?” Cass wondered aloud. 

“Discreetly,” Rhys replied. 

“All the discretion in the world won’t keep Beron from noticing his wife has disappeared,” Cass pointed out. 

“Where is she planning to go?” Azriel asked. “If she comes here, we can keep her hidden for a while, but not forever.”

“She isn’t coming here,” Lucien answered. “She’s going to Day.”

Cassian whistled. “I do  _ not  _ want to be there when Beron learns his wife left him for Helion.”

“I just want to make it clear, I don’t expect any of you to personally involve yourselves in this,” Lucien said. “This is my problem, not yours. I just wanted to make you all aware.”

“Luce, shut up you hard-headed ass,” Rhys quipped. “You’re part of my Inner Circle. We take care of our own.”

Ten years. 

Ten years Lucien had belonged to this inclusive unit of people who cared more deeply for one another than anything else in the world. People who would drop everything in a heartbeat to lend a hand, an ear, or whatever you needed. People who weren’t related by blood but had stronger bonds than any blood family Lucien had ever met. 

He had made incredible strides in accepting that there were people who gave a damn about him. Who didn’t feel obligated to help him, but offered help because they cared about him. Still, two centuries of being looked over wasn’t something that went away overnight. As a child, he was the youngest, the most insignificant to the male he thought had been his father. Then after he fled with his life to hide like a craven behind Tamlin, he became the diplomatic mouthpiece for Spring’s High Lord. In the years that followed his defection from Spring, Lucien doubted strongly that Tamlin would have allowed him to stay for all those years if he hadn’t been useful. 

In Rhysand’s Inner Circle, help and support were not forms of currency to be used against him later. They weren’t brought up as leverage to make him feel obligated to repay them. They were just… given. With no expectation of reciprocation. Many times, Lucien had insisted Rhys let him repay him for a kindness or overly generous offering. Each time, Rhys had only ever conceded to letting Lucien repay him in the form of meals or whiskey… and Lucien suspected that was just to get him to shut up about it. In truth, he knew Rhys wouldn’t ever come to him demanding repayment. 

He wondered if he would ever truly get used to it. 

He sighed, and slumping back against the back of his chair, replied, “I know Rhys… I know. But—”

“But nothing,” the Illyrian High Lord interjected. “Your mother needs aid. She is Elain’s mother-in-law, making her Feyre’s aunt-in-law. Therefore, she’s family.”

Lucien’s eyebrow arched. “Aunt-in-law? You just made that up.”

“So?”

Lucien shrugged, knowing better than to argue with Rhys once his stubborn High Lord mind had been made up. The only person who could change that mind was Feyre, and Lucien had a strong suspicion that in this case, she would be mute if she was here, content to indulge her mate in his antics. 

“Fine,” Lucien said, shaking his head with amusement. “So back to the original question. How in the hells are we going to pull this off?”

“I’ve been thinking,” Azriel said softly. 

“Of course you have,” Cass replied with a smirk. 

Ignoring his brother, Azriel continued. “We need someone on the inside. As much as I detest him, we’re going to need Eris.”

Eris. Lucien’s eldest brother and favored to take Beron’s place as High Lord. Lucien understood why Azriel was reluctant to accept the eldest Vanserra’s help. In the years since he’d been here, he’d pieced together the complicated past between Azriel, Cassian, Eris, and Morrigan. Even though Azriel no longer carried the unrequited love for Mor that had burned for centuries, everyone knew how protective he still was over her. There were some things that just couldn’t be forgiven, no matter how much time passed. 

Cassian groaned obnoxiously. “I hate that stupid prick.” Seeming to remember that Eris was Lucien’s brother, he cast him a glance and shrugged apologetically. “Sorry,” he added. 

“Don’t apologize to me,” Lucien said. “He’s my brother and I can’t even stand him… But Azriel is right, we need him.”

Rhys leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his long fingers steepled. He didn’t speak, but from the expression on his face, he was deep in thought. 

“We might need more than just Eris,” Lucien went on. “I understand the need for secrecy and discretion, so the fewer people who know, the better. But I suspect we’re going to need at least two helping from the inside.”

“Why?” Cassian asked. 

“We’ll need one to keep Beron occupied and another to aid Az in getting her over the Autumn borders.” Lucien cut a glance at his friend. “Assuming that your idea included you going in?”

Azriel nodded. “The glamour we used to hide her when she came here was just for a few hours. I know we haven’t worked out specifics, but I imagine we will need a glamour lasting at least a day or two. For that I’ll need time—and help.”

Rhys turned to Lucien. “Is there anyone else there you trust?”

Lucien opened his mouth to immediately answer no, but before he could voice the word, a blur of memories he didn’t even know he possessed sprang up. Memories involving his brother Vesstan.

Vesstan was Beron’s fifth son, and fourteen years older than Lucien. Though, once fae reached adolescence and adulthood, the ages never seemed to matter much. 

_ He was a boy, no older than seven. Thaellis, Corven, and Baur were teasing him relentlessly. They kept filling his schoolbag with stones and sand, laughing hysterically when young Lucien went to pick up the bag and fell into the mud at the unexpected weight. Over the sound of their cruel laughter, Lucien heard Vesstan’s voice, shouting to be heard.  _

_ “Feel big and tough picking on a child? You’re twenty-five, Baur. Grow up.” _

_ “Not my fault he’s scrawny,” Baur shot back, throwing a fist full of sand into Vesstan’s eyes. _

To Lucien’s horror, the memory changed to one he relived far too many times.

_ He stared across the stone courtyard at Jesminda, his own arms chained, rendering him helpless. His stomach roiled as he watched Beron give the command and all six of his brothers raised their bows, arrows already notched and aimed at the innocent fae female whose only crime was loving him. _

_ His attention wasn’t fixed on her, though. It settled on his brother Vesstan, who held his bow string taut at their father’s command. Vesstan’s expression indicated he took no joy in the task his father insisted he take part in. Nausea rose once more in Lucien’s throat as the scene that haunted his nightmares replayed for the thousandth time.  _

_ “Lucien, look at me,” Jesminda called out.  _

_ But he couldn’t. Not this time. This time, his gaze was locked on his brother.  _

_ “Fire,” Beron’s cold voice ordered.  _

_ Vesstan angled his head away from his target, eyes squeezed shut in pained disgust, as he loosed his arrow. Lucien’s head snapped around to finally look at the female who called out to him. Five arrows pierced her chest. Five… not six.  _

_ The sixth arrow was lodged firmly in the wooden post Jesminda’s limp form sagged against. _

“LUCIEN.”

He gasped, jerking his head up and glancing around wildly. He wasn’t in the courtyard of Beron’s estate. He was in his own house, in Velaris, where he lived with his mate. Where Rhysand and his two Illyrian warrior friends all stared at him with varying levels of concern in their eyes. 

“You looked like you were a million miles away,” Cassian remarked. 

Azriel elbowed his brother sharply in the ribs. “Insensitive ass,” the Shadowsinger muttered.

Rhysand stood and approached Lucien, placing a hand on his shoulder. Lucien didn’t trust his stomach not to reject the three glasses of bourbon he’d had earlier if he moved and remained seated. He glanced up at Rhys with a wince. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. 

“Don’t apologize,” Rhys said. “I suspected this endeavor would not be easy on you, not only out of concern for your mother’s safety but from the countless painful and unpleasant memories you have of the Autumn Court.”

_ You have no idea, _ Lucien immediately wanted to say, but he remained silent, since he knew Rhys  _ did  _ know. 

All too well did Rhys understand how memories could linger and haunt. It was why, Rhys once confessed to Lucien, he would never return to Under the Mountain. Initially, Lucien was shocked and confused why Rhys would confide that to him instead of his brothers. Then, he realized it was because Cassian and Azriel hadn’t been trapped in that hellhole. But Lucien had. Even if it had been for a significantly shorter amount of time than Rhys, Lucien knew what it had been like down there. Which was why he shared Rhysand’s sentiment of never wishing to return to that godsdamned mountain ever again. 

Lucien swallowed thickly and took several deep breaths, trying to bury those memories back down deep enough that they wouldn’t resurface for a very long time. Which was difficult, since he was still struggling to wrap his mind around what he learned tonight. Vesstan had disobeyed Beron’s order. 

That day, that night, Lucien had been so overcome with rage and grief he hadn’t bothered to count the arrows that stole his beloved’s life. All he had known then was that his brothers acted as mindless mercenaries, obeying their master’s every command without a care. If it was true—if Vesstan had intentionally missed his mark… 

Lucien wracked his brain to remember the times he visited Autumn as Tamlin’s emissary. Trying to remember if he had any encounter with his brother. He almost exclusively dealt with Eris, or Beron himself, since the bastard didn’t trust anyone to handle business as efficiently as he could. Despite the rage Lucien felt whenever he’d had to come face to face with Beron, it also brought him malicious enjoyment that the High Lord was forced to play nice. Despite promising to see Lucien dead, Beron could not lift a finger against a foreign court’s diplomat, lest he be tried at a High Lord’s tribunal and sentenced appropriately. 

A gentle grip against his shoulder reminded him that Rhys was still standing over him… and waiting for a reply. 

“Vesstan,” he said with confidence. “We can trust Vesstan.”

“You’re sure?” Rhys asked. 

“Yes.”

“What makes you think we can trust him?” Cassian pressed. 

Lucien did not miss the look of consternation Rhys shot Cass. 

“Does it matter?” Azriel offered. “If Lucien says we can trust him, we can trust him.”

“I’m just curious,” Cassian drawled. “Since before today, we’ve never heard his name.”

“We can trust him,” Lucien said, his voice lower than he intended. “Because he deliberately missed when Beron gave the order for my brothers to murder Jesminda.”

A heavy silence followed his pronouncement. 

“Son of a—” Cassian began. 

“Beron,” Rhys cut in, “is a monster.”

Lucien couldn’t agree more. “I’ll get word to Eris and Vesstan as soon as possible.”

“What do you need us to do?” Azriel asked. 

Until he received a reply from his brothers, there wasn’t much to do, since their plan would rely heavily on the information and availability Eris and Vesstan could provide. 

Lucien reached for his glass on the low-lying table. “Don’t let me drink alone?”

Rhys gave him a wry smile as he snatched the bottle and poured all four of them another round. “That, we can do.”

Cassian and Azriel raised a silent toast in his direction before taking generous sips from their glasses. Rhys clinked his softly against Lucien’s and said quietly, “You know we’re with you every step of the way.”

“I know,” Lucien replied. 

And he did. He knew that it didn’t matter if his biological brothers had no use for him. Because the great Mother had blessed him with three Illyrians who called him ‘brother’ and would have his back in this world and the next. 


	8. Chapter 8

Elain couldn’t help but feel slightly childish as she sat cross-legged on the floor, a blanket over her lap, surrounded by a small mountain of blankets and pillows. It had been longer than she could remember since she had girlfriends. People she could confide in without maintaining any sort of propriety or appearances. 

She had Lucien, of course. He was her mate, her partner in life. The other half of her soul. She could tell him anything… but that still didn’t replace the need for friends. She was grateful for Aridea and Briar, more than words could say. And the twins. They were her first real friends in Velaris, tending to her needs diligently and silently until she felt confident enough to speak to them. 

She supposed Mor and Amren were her friends too, though both females had stronger bonds with her sisters than with Elain. Mor and Feyre had bonded almost immediately once Feyre left Spring. And Amren… well, Elain had to admit that the tiny ancient one as her mate like to call Amren still scared her a bit. Her unyielding abrasive personality meshed well with Nesta’s, and the two females had been inseparable ever since Amren emerged from the Cauldron at the end of the war with Hybern.

Briar and Aridea had been breaths of fresh air. Females she’d bonded with after the war. Briar had endured some of the same horrors at that war camp she and Elain were held prisoner in. And Aridea was just that doting big sister type that Elain never seemed to get from Nesta. It had been nice to find people who didn’t already have decades, if not centuries, of history between them. Elain never felt like an outsider with those two. 

So, she told herself, it wasn’t completely childish to have carefree evenings with her friends from time to time. Sitting on the floor, eating junk food, tittering like silly females… essentially, all the behaviors she reserved for her friends. Lucien wouldn’t have judged her, she knew, but as she explained to him once—he just wouldn’t understand because he wasn’t a female. She smiled softly at the memory… before thoughts of the Whisperer wiped the smile from her face. 

She hadn’t told her friends that bit. Not yet. She wasn’t entirely sure why, either. Part of her was afraid they would think she’d gone stark raving mad, though a larger part of her simply feared the judgment that would come with such a pronouncement. Everyone in their circle of friends knew of Elain’s gift as a Seer, so telling her friends about the visions she’d been having wasn’t unusual. 

They had reacted appropriately when she told them of the scenes that haunted her, both waking and in dreams. Fae children were so rare, so precious, that to have an unending barrage of taunts that she wouldn’t be able to bear a child was justifiably upsetting. It was one thing to try to have children and not know if they would be successful. It was entirely another to have that heartbreaking confirmation. It made her so discouraged that she was resigned to stop trying altogether. She would have… if not for the crippling fear of disappointing her mate. 

All these things she confessed to her friends, who told her they understood her worries, but also tried to reassure her that the visions weren’t absolutes. She might have believed them… if not for the sinister whispers that accompanied those visions.

She knew they would probably understand better if she told them of the Whisperer. But she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. Confessing that part felt as if she would be exposing too much of herself. She also wasn’t willing to speak about it aloud. Doing so would somehow make it more real. For now, it existed only in her mind and though she doubted it, she still hoped she might be able to wish it away with enough willpower. 

Elain absentmindedly fiddled with the smooth worn strip of leather tied around her left wrist. It was the very same piece Lucien had used to tie her hair back that first day they spent in Velaris ten years ago. 

Ten years. A decade. Such a long time for a mortal, yet barely the blink of an eye to a fae. She caught her reflection in the glass of a curio cabinet on the far wall. She didn’t look a day over twenty. And she wouldn’t… for the remainder of her days. 

“Being immortal is still weird,” she confessed. 

Aridea gave her a sideways glance. “Where did that come from?”

Elain shrugged. “Just thinking…” 

She twirled the knotted ends of the leather strip between her fingers. 

“I can’t believe you’ve never taken that off.”

The mere thought offended her.

“It’s what got me thinking,” Elain admitted. “I’ve had it on for ten years.”

“That’s right,” Aridea nodded. “You turned thirty this year, right? So young!”

Elain didn’t feel young. She felt exhausted and worn thin. The weight of the visions pressing down against her made her feel as if she’d aged three times faster than she should be. At thirty years of age, it would have been expected for a mortal woman to have borne at least two children already. A thirty-year-old fae was still just beginning their life, barely out of adolescence. 

Briar understood, at least. She was still mortal, a fact that she expressed her displeasure over frequently. She often fretted about growing older while everyone else appeared frozen in time. Azriel reminded her each time that his feelings for her would not be affected by her appearance, but she confessed to Elain once that vanity wasn’t what worried her. 

What Briar feared was growing old and dying, leaving Azriel alone again. It tugged at Elain’s heartstrings to know that Briar’s worries were not of her own inevitable death, but how her death would affect her beloved. 

Amren, ever fascinated by transformative magic, had been secretly researching methods of turning Briar fae. There was the Cauldron, of course, but no one seemed willing to consider that as a viable option. The Cauldron was too volatile—too unpredictable—to trust with anyone else’s life. 

As if thinking about Briar summoned the girl, Elain heard her friend’s voice carrying from the hallway. She’d gone to ask the twins to let Mor know they’d be staying up at the House for the night and asking if she would care to join them. 

“Best not mention that in front of B,” Elain warned in a low murmur. 

Aridea nodded her agreement just as Briar rounded the corner into the library. She carried a tray that was stacked so high with sweets, Elain couldn’t see her friend’s face. She sprang up to help, taking the tray and setting it on a low-lying table within reach of the sea of blankets on the floor. 

“What’s all this, then?” Aridea puzzled. 

“Well, Mor and Nesta are joining us,” Briar explained somewhat breathlessly. “So, I brought snacks.”

Snacks was an understatement. There appeared to be a sampling of every tart, pastry, and sweet the kitchen and pantry had to offer. Before Briar could finish pointing out what each confection was, Cerridwen appeared in the doorway carrying another tray, this one laden with steaming mugs. 

“Hot apple cider and cocoa,” the wraith twin explained. 

“This is everything I didn’t know I needed,” Elain said as she popped a raspberry tart drizzled in dark chocolate in her mouth. 

She expected Mor would join them once Nuala told her they’d be staying the night, but Nesta was a surprise. She was nowhere near as bristly as she used to be, but Nesta still was not the type for shrill female laughter and gossip. Whenever the females had an evening such as this, Nesta was usually as far away as she could make herself. Elain suspected there was a reason her sister chose to join them, but at the moment, she couldn’t puzzle what that reason could be. She might have given it more thought if Briar hadn’t flicked a truffle at her, sending it rolling across the table in her direction. Elain plucked it up between her thumb and forefinger before it had a chance to roll into her lap and popped it into her mouth. Toasted coconut and salted caramel. Elain definitely loved girls nights. 

******************

An hour later, Nesta’s reason for joining their impromptu slumber party was revealed. 

“I need to talk to you,” her sister hissed into her ear. “Alone.”

Elain stood with a sigh of resignation, fearing that her evening of carefree fun was about to be over. Nesta left the room without a word and Elain had no choice but to follow. 

“I’ll be right back,” she told the others as she picked up a mug of cider to take with her. Undoubtedly, Nesta would lead them to the balcony where they would be accosted by the frigid mountain air. 

“Is everything alright?” Nuala asked tentatively. 

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Elain replied. 

Sure enough, Elain found Nesta leaning against the railing on the wide balcony. Her hair whipped in the blustering wind, though she paid it no notice. Elain shivered. She didn’t join her sister at the railing, but cleared her throat so Nesta would know she was there. 

Nesta turned around, shaking her head to decline the mug of cider Elain brought out for her. 

“What’s this about?” Elain asked.

“What is going on with you?” Nesta asked sharply. 

Elain’s brows creased. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t know what it is,” Nesta barked, “but something is going on.”

“Why do you think that?”

“First… I don’t think. I know. And second, I’m your sister, Elain. I’ve known you since the moment you were born. You’ve been acting off. Distant. Sullen.”

Elain shifted uncomfortably. She didn’t want Nesta to know about the visions. The Whisperer. Any of it. The other females, sure. They would be sympathetic and encouraging. Nesta’s approach of tough love wasn’t what Elain wanted. She stared at the floor as she spoke.

“I’m not—”

“And what about Lucien?”

Elain’s eyes shot up, meeting her sister’s blue-grey gaze of cold steel. 

“What about him?” She fought the annoyance that rose up, resisting the urge to snap at Nesta.

“You barely spoke to him at dinner last night. You didn’t come home with him this morning. You—”

“That’s really not your business, is it?” Elain replied sharply. 

“No, it isn’t,” her sister replied icily. “But I’m making it my business because I  _ know  _ something is going on. I don’t know what it is but I do know you seem hellbent to ignore it.”

“That’s what you just  _ had  _ to drag me out here to talk about?” Elain snapped. “I’m on the verge of freezing to death out here so you could pry into my domestic life?”

“If you weren’t being so icy to your mate, you might not be freezing,” Nesta shot back. 

Elain took a step back as if Nesta had physically slapped her. 

“That is none of your business,” she repeated. “For Cauldron’s sake, Nesta, you have a mate. Are you two sunshine and rainbows all the time? Do you ever have times where you’re just in a funk? But do I harass you about it?”

Nesta closed her eyes for a long beat. She took a deep breath in and as she exhaled, she opened her eyes. To Elain’s surprise, they weren’t filled with rage or anger or even sadness. It was pity she saw in her sister’s eyes. 

“I’m not you, Elain,” Nesta said, much too quietly for Elain’s liking. It was that sort of quiet that made the very earth hold its breath. “I fight with Cassian all the time. That’s just us. But you and Lucien… you’re stronger together when you’re in sync with one another. I’ve seen it. And right now, that sync is out of balance somehow. I’m not the only one who sees it, but I am apparently the only one who’s thought it important enough to speak up about it.”

Elain shifted her weight from one foot to the other, eyes cast down at the floor once more. 

“And you’re right,” Nesta continued. “It  _ is  _ none of my business. But I’ll make it my business if it means fixing whatever this is before it breaks. You fought  _ so  _ hard for this, my dear sister. Don’t allow some fleeting trouble to come between you two. Look past it. Beyond it. Remember what you told me? What you saw when you looked at him?”

A tear fell swiftly from Elain’s eye and she hurriedly swiped it away. She absolutely remembered. It was a conversation she would never forget, regardless of however many centuries she may live. It had been the first time she professed her love for him aloud. When she told Nesta that when she looked at him, all she saw was—

“Daylight,” Elain choked out. 

“Daylight,” Nesta repeated. She stepped toward Elain and grasped her hands between her own. “Don’t lose sight of that. He was the light that brought you back to life. Don’t let whatever is weighing on you to snuff that light out.”

She should tell Nesta. Tell her everything. But she couldn’t. Her sister wouldn’t understand. Nesta didn’t want children. Nesta was so adamant against having children that she took every tonic she could to avoid getting pregnant. Meanwhile, her sister was drowning in nightmares and visions of being barren. Of being unfit to carry a child to term and her mate forswearing her for it. How could she expect her sister to understand? Not to mention the Whisperer. That voice that was evil incarnate, hissing her deepest fears to her day in and day out. Nesta would most definitely call her crazy. 

Elain sniffled, shivering against the relentless wind. “Can we go in now?”

“Will you do what I said?” 

Elain nodded listlessly. She would say what her sister wanted her to, just to keep her from prying any deeper. Nesta seemed satisfied and returned inside the House. Even as Elain considered her sister’s words, a bodiless voice slithered up through her mind and chuckled cruelly. 

_ I know what you fear.  _

Elain didn’t even bother wasting energy telling it to go away.

_ Your sister’s words are hollow. There is no daylight left for you, barren girl.  _

Elain gazed out into the night. She wasn’t sure of the time, but it must have been late, considering the lights of Velaris were scattered and dim. The sky was void of any stars. Even the light from the moon was blocked by thick, endless clouds that rumbled every so often. The Whisperer was right. She had no daylight left. As far as the eye could see, her horizon was shrouded in storm clouds. 


	9. Chapter 9

It was well after midnight by the time Lucien and the Illyrians finished the second bottle of bourbon. As Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel were preparing to leave, Lucien caught Azriel’s gaze and gave him a pointed state. Rhys was already gone, but Cassian lingered in the doorway. 

“Coming?” He called to Azriel. 

“Go on,” Az replied. “I need to go over a few more details about the Autumn Court estate.”

Cassian shrugged and abled out the door. Once he was gone, Azriel returned to the chair he had been sitting in all evening. 

“What is it?”

Lucien pulled at the back of his neck. He was still conflicted about breaking Elain’s trust and telling someone about the visions she begged him to keep secret. But if he didn’t tell someone, he was going to go mad. He hoped by confiding in Azriel, he could get a different perspective than the same constant thoughts that circled through his mind. 

“I need to tell you something,” Lucien began. 

Azriel sat silently, waiting. 

“In confidence,” Lucien added. 

A bemused smile pulled at Azriel’s mouth. “I assumed as much since you waited until the others were gone to bring it up.”

Lucien knew Azriel wouldn’t betray his confidence, not even to Elain. Of everyone among the Inner Circle, Azriel was probably Lucien’s closest friend after Feyre. The irony of that was not lost on him. The one person he’d believed to be a threat to his and Elain’s relationship when Lucien had first come back to Velaris ended up becoming one of his closest friends. Still, his gut twisted uncomfortably at the thought of revealing something that private, that intimate between him and his mate. 

“It’s about Elain.”

Azriel remained silent, though he sat up a little straighter. 

“She’s been having… visions.”

Lucien waited for a smartass retort about how Elain is a Seer so, of course she would have visions. If Cassian were here, that would undoubtedly be his reply. But Lucien chose to tell Azriel for a reason. The Shadowsinger was one of his closest friends and sarcasm wasn’t his forte. 

“What is she seeing?”

Lucien sighed as he collapsed into his chair. “Lately, it’s been the same one, numerous times.”

He struggled to find the words to explain. To emphasize just how damaging Elain’s visions were. Azriel merely sat quietly, waiting for him to continue. That was one of the things Lucien liked about him. He never made him feel pressured or rushed. Silence with most people was uncomfortable and heavy, but silence around the Shadowsinger was comfortable. Natural. 

“She wants to start a family,” Lucien said tentatively. 

Azriel tilted his head slightly. “And you don’t? Is that the issue?”

“No!” Lucien said sharply. He shook his head as he explained. “I do, if that’s what she wants. I’ve tried explaining to her that I’m happy either way. But she is hellsbent on it. And I’ve tried explaining that she’s still  _ so  _ young for an immortal and there is no rush. It got worse after Suri was born.”

“What exactly is she seeing?” Azriel asked again. 

“She’s having visions of not being able to bear a child,” Lucien said miserably. He rose from his chair and began pacing as he spoke. “There have been variations. Some of them, she’s barren and unable to conceive at all. Others, she fails to carry to term. But in all of them, she fails at becoming a mother.”

He stopped pacing and stared at a worn spot on the carpet without really focusing on it. “And after each one, I lose a little bit more of her.”

He didn’t dare look up. Didn’t think he could handle the look of pity his friend was bound to have. 

“Is there anything else?”

Lucien immediately thought of the bodiless voice that taunted him earlier in the woods. That seemed to know about Elain’s visions—or at least how much they troubled his mind. 

“No,” he answered flatly. 

He wasn’t sure why he didn’t tell Azriel about the voice. With all the unexplained phenomenon they’d all seen, he doubted his friend would think him crazy. It just seemed to be beyond that line of personal demons he wasn’t willing to cross with anyone, even his mate. 

“Hmm,” Azriel pondered, his chin resting on a scarred fist. “How can I help?”

“I don’t know,” Lucien admitted. “I just needed to tell someone before I went insane. Every time Feyre or Rhys makes a passing comment about Suri and how we’ll understand once we have one of our own, I feel her despair and it kills me to know I can do nothing to stop it.”

Azriel cleared his throat and seemed to steady himself before he spoke again. 

“Do you think it would help if…”

“If what?” Lucien pressed. 

“Well, are these visions purely prophetic? Or are they a response to this actually happening?”

Lucien grimaced slightly. “Prophetic. She hasn’t gotten pregnant yet, at least, not to my knowledge. And because of the visions, she’s all but resigned not to even try, if you take my meaning.”

Azriel winced as hot shame spread through Lucien like wildfire. He would never admit this to the others. They wouldn’t mean any harm, but the relentless teasing about it would be too much for Lucien to handle. He could count on Azriel not to mock him, though it didn’t erase the feeling of inadequacy he felt. He ran a hand through his long loose hair and sighed.

“Anyway,” he said, “how are things with Briar?”

Azriel sat back in the chair, carefully tucking his wings behind him. Though he needn’t bother. When Rhysand furnished Lucien’s and Elain’s entire townhouse, he had included three custom made chairs for the living room. Each chair was built with a hollow area in the backrest to allow room for Illyrian wings. When he’d first seen them, Lucien chuckled and made a sly remark about how he supposed that meant he should expect frequent visitors. 

Shadows curled around Azriel’s shoulders as he breathed deeply. “Things are… fine,” he said haltingly. 

Lucien’s scarred eyebrow rose, a sharp arch of perplexion. 

“Fine?”

“She wants to be Made,” Az confessed. 

“What… fae?” Lucien asked. 

“I suppose… She wants to be immortal like the rest of us.”

Lucien’s first thought was that the girl didn’t know what she was asking. But then he paused long enough to put himself in her position. He tried to imagine what it would be like if Elain would live centuries longer than him. To stay young and strong while he grew old and weak. He shuddered as he imagined the pain of losing his most beloved to the fleeting time of a mortal lifespan. 

“I can’t say I blame her,” Lucien admitted. 

“Even if I knew how, I don’t know that I would want her to.”

Lucien narrowed his eyes quizzically at his friend. “Why in hells not?”

Azriel averted his gaze as the shadows curled in tighter around him. 

“Hey, don’t even think about disappearing without answering me,” Lucien growled. Azriel had a knack for silently slipping into shadows when a conversation turned in a direction he didn’t want to be part of. 

The shadows retracted slightly as Azriel glared non-threateningly back at Lucien. 

“So? Why wouldn’t you want Briar to turn fae?”

The Shadowsinger sighed and in a voice almost too quiet for Lucien to hear, he said, “Because if her feelings change, she’ll regret her choice.”

Lucien stared at his friend for a long moment. “Az,” he finally said, firmly but not unkind. 

Azriel glanced at him and Lucien was shocked to see the same expression of self-loathing misery he knew he himself had worn mere minutes ago. 

“Are you suggesting that after a few decades, she’ll stop loving you and then resent you for turning her?”

The Illyrian’s shoulders raised almost imperceptibly in a tiny shrug. “I’m just saying it’s a possibility.”

“Yeah, and so is everything else,” Lucien countered. “Don’t not act because you’re worried about one possible outcome when there are so many other better ways it could turn out.”

“Amazing,” Azriel quipped. “Now say the same thing to your mate.”

Lucien’s mouth hung open, his retort dying on his tongue. He knew his friend didn’t mean it maliciously, but it still struck him hard. Azriel was right, of course. He bristled slightly as he shook his head. 

“Not that simple when she’s a Seer who’s convinced her visions are predicting the future.”

“You aren’t wrong,” Az replied sympathetically. 

Lucien yawned as the tall pendulum clock in the corner struck one in the morning. Azriel rose from his chair, his wings flexing as he stretched. Lucien snorted inwardly as he remembered a time when he had been so jealous of Azriel and his wings. Of his ability to carry Elain through the sky above Velaris. A damn fool is what he’d been. 

Azriel slowly made his way toward the door. He could easily just dissolve into shadows, which he’d done countless times before. Though once, Elain had teased him about whether or not he truly left when he disappeared into a shadowed corner and since then, he always offered the courtesy of leaving through the door so as not to give his hosts the feeling of being watched. None of them believed Azriel would eavesdrop without being explicitly asked or instructed to do so, but it had just become a habit after so much time spent together. 

Just as Azriel reached for the doorknob, Lucien wondered aloud, “How would we even do it?”

“Do what?”

“Make her. Briar, I mean.”

Azriel stood with his hand still on the door. “I honestly have no idea. The Cauldron is too unpredictable. It would just as soon kill her than turn her, purely out of spite.”

Lucien silently agreed. The Cauldron was not something to trifle with. 

“I suppose we could ask Miryam and Drakon.”

He gave his friend a long challenging glance. 

“I suppose we could,” Azriel finally agreed. “After we settle this business with your mother.”

Lucien took his meaning clearly. One monumental task at a time. 

“And speaking of which,” Azriel added, “we also need to arrange a meeting with Helion. To make the move as seamless as possible.”

Lucien’s throat constricted. Helion. His father. Whom he had never even met. 

That meeting was sure to be memorable at the very least. 


	10. Chapter 10

It took almost a week to receive word back from Eris. Lucien hadn’t been able to explicitly state what he wanted to speak to his brother about in a letter. The risk of it falling into the wrong hands was too great. If Beron or someone loyal to him intercepted it, their plan would be over before it began. 

So instead, Lucien had written to his brother not from himself, but as emissary to the High Lord of the Night Court. Rhysand requesting a meeting made it near impossible for Eris to refuse. Lucien wasn’t worried about Beron raising a suspicious eye—he knew Eris was clever enough to make up some reason that the High Lord needed to meet. Another benefit of going through Lucien’s eldest brother was that Eris needed Rhysand’s support whenever it was his time to ascend to High Lord of Autumn. It would behoove him to remain in the Lord of Night’s good graces. The tricky part was conveying to Eris that he needed to bring Vesstan. 

Lucien hadn’t spoken to Vesstan in nearly two hundred years, but if his memory served him well, he remembered his brother having an affinity for crafting weaponry. He remembered once, as a boy, when Beron sneered at Vesstan’s pronouncement that he wanted to be a weaponry artist. 

“War,” Beron growled, “is not art.”

Lucien disagreed, but had been wise enough not to say that within earshot of his father. Even as a boy, he marveled at the craftsmanship that went into the bows and swords within his father’s armory. The attention to detail, the ornate designs of the sword pommels, the sheer number of hours spent creating such masterpieces made every single blade and bow in the armory a piece of art. Lucien was not stupid enough to say that to Beron, however. Arguing with the High Lord was much like arguing with a stone wall. 

Whether Vesstan obtained Beron’s blessing or not, he did pursue weaponry crafting. On one of his few trips back to Autumn as Tamlin’s emissary, Lucien purchased a few bows for the Spring Court sentries, and one look at them confirmed his brother made them. They were perfectly balanced and still bore a sleek, elegant design. How anyone could look at such a tool and not see the art in it, Lucien had no idea. 

In his letter to Eris, Lucien wrote that Rhysand was potentially interested in securing a contract with Vesstan for a large order of swords for two of his Illyrian legions. Such a massive custom order would take time, and Rhysand wanted to see a few of Vesstan’s samples in person while he discussed the particulars of the deal. 

Even though the entire thing was a ruse, Lucien smirked as he drafted the letter, knowing it would cause Beron no short amount of conflict. On one hand, he would be appalled at the idea of supplying a rival court with custom weaponry… but the sheer amount of money he would make off the deal would probably be enough to convince him to agree to it. All the same, Lucien was grateful that shortly after the war with Hybern, Eris convinced Beron to allow him to serve as emissary, considering he already had a rapport with Rhysand. It would make things considerably easier to get Eris to the Night Court without raising too much suspicion. 

While he waited for his brother’s reply to come, Lucien tried to keep himself busy. Fortunately, he had a considerable list of legitimate tasks he needed to accomplish. Negotiations with other courts for trading goods and materials, arranging meetings with other dignitaries… and there was still the matter of Hybern that hadn’t been completely sorted out. Immediately following the war, the citizens of Hybern seemed content to be left alone as they attempted to weed out those still loyal to their fallen king and restored order to their small nation. Though lately, it seemed that a faction of rebels who were not content to simply exist in peace with Prythian had been growing in popularity. On behalf of Rhysand, Lucien sent out letters to all the other courts—even Autumn and Spring—cautioning them not to ignore it. What was a small directionless faction now could develop into an uprising… and potential second war.

All in all, Lucien had been quite busy over the past week. He and Elain barely saw or spoke to each other, in part due to his numerous obligations... though he was ashamed to admit he'd been so preoccupied with waiting for his brother's reply, he hadn't made much of an effort. He felt guilty for neglecting her… but she wasn’t making much of an effort either. He made a promise to himself that after this business with his mother was sorted, he would devote all his attention to helping her make the visions stop. But between his mother’s impending departure, his own daily obligations, and his mate’s troubling premonitions, Lucien was feeling the effects of being pulled in so many different directions all at once. 

The eerie bodiless voice had visited him once more during the past week. Even thinking about it now sent a shiver down his spine. He had been responding to a letter from Tarquin—the High Lord of Summer had written that the final shipment of salmon for the season was being sent a bit behind schedule. Velaris sat at the mouth of the sea, so fresh fish was never in short supply, but Rhys maintained a lucrative trade business with many of the other courts and salmon was one of the few fish that weren’t plentiful this far north. He made a mental note to pick up the delicacy Summer Court meal Elain liked so much from the cafe by Deidre’s shop tomorrow. 

As he drafted his reply to Tarquin, a cold unnatural silence settled over the study. Instinctively, he reached for the dagger he always carried on his belt. 

_ A blade will do you no good. _

“You,” Lucien growled. It was the same echoing voice that spoke to him in the woods the week prior. He’d hoped it was a fluke, something sinister that lurked in the woods… Would that he could have been so lucky. “What do you want?”

_ I know what you fear.  _

“So you’ve said,” Lucien replied, trying to sound bored even as every hair on the back of his neck rose and his entire body tensed. 

_ What you fear will indeed come to pass. And you will bear it alone. _

“I have no time to decipher more riddles,” Lucien spat. “Speak clearly or go away.”

He silently hoped it would choose to go away. 

_ I know what you fear. _

Lucien balled his fists as yellow and orange flames sprang up and danced across his knuckles. 

_ Careful with that temper… you wouldn’t want to incinerate your precious books, now would you? _

“I’d prefer to incinerate you.”

_ Then you’ll have to set your own mind ablaze, for I speak only from your deepest thoughts.  _

Lucien growled menacingly, the flames still bouncing atop his balled fists. The voice laughed mirthlessly as it began to fade, echoing until it was nothing but an unpleasant memory. A weight he hadn’t even realized was pressing against his chest and shoulders seemed to vanish the instant the voice’s sinister laugh died away. Needless to say, Lucien had plenty to share with Bryaxis that night. 

After family dinner, Lucien volunteered immediately though he needn’t have bothered. Rhys seemed to expect it and said not one word of protest as Lucien marched out the door and down into the cavernous library below. 

As promised, he updated his monstrous friend about what he’d learned from his mother’s letter. That he decoded her cipher, with the help of his mate, and discovered she intended to finally leave Autumn. He considered telling Bryaxis about the voice but held back. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but just as he’d not been willing to tell Azriel and the others, he was unwilling to tell Bryaxis. Later, he reasoned with himself that having one shapeless, monstrous creature with a voice that echoed inside his very head was more than enough. He didn’t need anyone knowing there was another. Though, Bryaxis paled in comparison to the heinousness of the Whisperer. For a moment, he wondered if they were two beings cut from the same cloth. After all, most people were scared out of their wits of Bryaxis. He shot the idea down almost as quickly as it had come to him though. Bryaxis, though lacking distinct shape and mass,  _ did  _ at least have a form that could be seen if it wanted to. And, Lucien reminded himself with a nervous chuckle, bright glowing eyes. Whatever this Whisperer was, it was not like Brax. Not even in the slightest. 

“Lucien?”

“Cauldron boil me!” He shoved his chair back abruptly, slamming his knee against the corner of the desk as he whirled around to look at Feyre. 

His High Lady stood in the doorframe, her eyes wide and her mouth forming some mix between a grimace and a grin. A look of apologetic amusement. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said with a tiny shrug. 

Lucien winced as he rubbed what was sure to become a bruise on his knee. “Don’t you know it’s rude to just sneak up on people like that?”

“Well, I knocked but you didn’t answer. And I saw the lamps were lit upstairs in your study so…”

“So, you invited yourself in?” He took slow steady breaths until the racing in his heart slowed back to a normal rhythm. “And you didn’t scare me,” he insisted. “Just took me by surprise.”

“You did look like you were deep in thought. I cleared my throat but you didn’t seem to hear me.”

He hadn’t heard her. He had been so lost in thought that she had been practically on top of him before he knew she was there. Silently, he cursed himself for being so careless. Possibilities of invaders or threats within Velaris were slim, but not impossible. No matter what weighed on his mind, he needed to pay better attention. If something happened to Elain because he was daydreaming…

Feye cleared her throat loudly. “You seem more preoccupied than usual.”

He pushed some of the papers and letters around his desk absentmindedly. “I’m on edge,” he admitted. It certainly wasn’t a lie. 

Feyre raised her eyebrows at him. 

“Waiting for my useless brother to write back,” he offered as an explanation. Also not a lie, though not the entire truth either. 

“That’s what I’m here about,” Feyre said as she eyed him carefully. She didn’t seem to believe that waiting for Eris’s correspondence was the only thing that had him jumpy. “This arrived about an hour ago. I’d have brought it sooner, but Rhys and I were out—”

Lucien snatched the envelope from her hand and ripped it open, discarding the expensive envelope and wax seal to the floor. He flicked his wrist and the letter unfolded. He read through it twice before sighing and sinking back into his chair, his shoulders slumped. 

“What’s wrong?” Feyre asked. 

“Nothing,” he replied wearily and handed her the letter. 

Her brows knit together as she read through Eris’s reply. “But… this is good news, isn’t it? He says he and Vesstan will be able to meet with us in two weeks.”

Yes, it was good news… but Lucien had been hoping for a meeting much sooner than that. With all that was going on with Elain, he needed tasks and distractions to keep his mind busy. He was crossing off tasks from his to-do rather efficiently and worried about what he would do all day once he was completely caught up. Plus, he worried about his mother every day. He knew she was clever and shrewd—she had to be to stay married to Beron for as long as she had. But the closer it came to Solstice, the less time she had left in Autumn. She promised that she would leave exactly one month before Solstice. He didn’t like not having a plan as the days grew shorter. It seemed that each day, the sun was setting earlier and earlier, bringing Winter Solstice to their doorstep much quicker than he would like. 

“Yes,” he finally answered Feyre. “It is good news. I was hoping he could meet sooner, but I know it was no small task for Eris to get Beron to agree to.”

“It will go by faster than we know it,” Feyre said. “Especially since Rhys wants you all to go up to the manor house in the Court of Nightmares a few days before Eris and Vesstan arrive.”

“They aren’t meeting here?” Lucien pondered. He knew Velaris was sacred to Rhys and that outsiders were very rarely admitted entry. But since the war with Hybern, Velaris’s mere existence was no longer a closely guarded secret. They were far from all of Prythian knowing about it, but the High Lords and their own inner circles were privileged to that information now. 

“No,” Feyre replied, folding the letter and using it to scrape dirt out from underneath her fingernail. “Rhys doesn’t want Eris anywhere near Mor if he can help it.”

Lucien’s stomach roiled. What Eris did to Morrigan occurred long before Lucien was born, but growing up in the same household, he’d had to hear about it. Beron used to sing Eris’s praises for it as if he could be no prouder of his eldest son than he was for what he did to Mor. Lucien’s lip curled up in disgust. Eris had claimed he had his reasons, and he very well may have, but Lucien never cared to hear them. He had no love for his brother, but for the sake of their mother, he needed him. 

“Very well, then,” he said, marking the date of the meeting on his calendar. “When does Rhys want us up at the manor?”

“The twenty-first,” Feyre replied. “A week and a half before Samhuinn.” 

Another shudder slid down Lucien’s spine. For some reason, he suspected that sinister Whisperer delighted in Samhuinn. 

He glanced at the calendar again. That allowed for five full weeks between the meeting with his brothers and his mother’s planned departure date. He made a small indistinct mark on the square for the day exactly one month before Solstice. He could only hope Beron didn’t discover them before then. 


	11. Chapter 11

Waiting for the meeting with his brothers felt like pure agony. Granted, Lucien still had his normal daily obligations which occupied most of the daytime hours, but each day seemed to take longer than the previous one and soon started blending together. And his nights had grown endless as dreams of a bodiless voice plagued him. If not for the calendar on his desk, where he marked off each day before going to bed, he would have lost track of the days altogether. 

He felt a bit foolish as he crossed through the day, bringing them one day closer to the meeting. He was reminded of when he would do the same as a boy, crossing off days in a countdown to his birthday. His mother had encouraged him, he recalled. “Only four days left,” she would say. Then three, then two. Beron, of course, chided the notion. Lucien wondered if there was anything that brought Beron true joy or if he was just utterly miserable down to his core. 

But somehow, it was finally the eve before he was to meet with his brothers. He stared at the pile of papers on his desk without really seeing them. He breathed in deeply, but his sigh was cut off with a familiar scent that never failed to intoxicate him. Apples and honey. 

Elain passed in front of the door to the study. Lucien assumed she was on her way to bed but stopped short when she reappeared, walking the opposite direction. On her third pass in front of the door, Lucien cocked his head to the side. 

“What’s on your mind?” He asked gently. 

Elain fidgeted with the tassel of her dressing gown as she lingered in the doorway. She opened her mouth but faltered, closing it with a grimace and staring at an indistinct spot on the plush carpet. From her still damp hair and the faint smell of her citrusy shampoo, she had just finished a bath. 

She had spent most of the day in the garden. Aridea and Briar stopped by around noon with a basket full of pastries from Archie’s bakery. From his study, he’d heard periodic shrieks of shrill laughter. Elain was most lively when her friends came around. Lucien was glad she had true genuine friends… but he couldn’t stop the pang of jealousy that she rarely laughed or smiled in his presence anymore. 

Lucien rose from the chair behind his desk and approached her cautiously. She’d been more distant than ever these past few weeks and he moved toward her not unlike the way one would move toward a timid forest creature, trying to get close but not scare it away. 

He stopped an arm’s width from her. She still fiddled absentmindedly with the tassel though her eyes rose from the carpet to meet his. She took half a step toward him, opening her mouth again but still said nothing. 

**_What’s the matter?_ **

He felt her shrug pass down their bond.  _ I don’t know.  _

**_What can I do to help?_ **

_ I don’t know.  _ Even though she didn’t speak aloud, her tone was unmistakably apologetic. 

She drifted over to him, her footsteps muted by the thick carpet. When she reached the desk, she trailed her fingers lightly across the papers scattered on its surface, stopping when her fingernail hovered over the date Anlyn intended to leave Autumn. Lucien stood immensely still, following her movements with only his eyes. 

She flattened her palm against the calendar and when she spoke, she sounded nothing like his mate. Like the female he loved so fiercely. Her voice was low and raspy as she said, “The dove caught in the hunter’s snare. Blackberry winter yields to the sun.”

Lucien’s mouth went dry. It had been years since Elain had given any sort of prophecy or cryptic premonition.

She blinked rapidly, gently shaking her head from side to side. “Why are you staring at me like that?” 

Her voice returned to normal, that soft clear sound that reminded Lucien of a birdsong. It was why he started calling her dove in the first place. The enigmatic statement she’d just made—was it a prophecy? It mentioned a dove… He wondered if it involved her somehow. As if he didn’t already have enough to think and worry about. 

“You… I think you made a prophecy,” Lucien said carefully. 

Elain’s returning glance was laced with doubt. “A prophecy? I haven’t had one of those in years… since the war with Hybern.”

Quickly, Lucien recounted what she said and her demeanor as she spoke. “You don’t remember any of it?”

“No,” she shook her head. “One moment, we were talking through the bond and the next, I was standing beside your desk and you were staring at me like I’d grown an extra head.”

Lucien’s mind raced, trying to decipher what her premonition could possibly mean. 

_ Which you’re still doing.  _

Realizing she was right, he shook his own head and shrugged. “I’m sorry.”

“What did I say?”

His brows creased as he recalled her specific words. “You said…” he hesitated, as if not wanting to speak her prophecy aloud. 

**_You said ‘The dove caught in the hunter’s snare. Blackberry winter yields to the sun.’_ **

_ I wish I knew what any of that meant.  _

On previous occasions, whenever Elain gave a cryptic prophecy, even she had not known what it meant… though the meanings became apparent shortly thereafter. 

“I guess we’ll find out eventually,” Lucien said with a tight smile. 

Elain was running the thick tassel of her dressing gown between her fingers idly, her lower lip drawn between her teeth as she seemed deep in thought. 

“I expect that wasn’t what you came in here for though, was it?” 

“No,” she said with a small shake of her head. “I just…”

Lucien waited, though it took considerable effort. Still, he’d learned firsthand that pushing her never worked out well for either of them. 

“I just didn’t want to be alone tonight,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. 

Lucien’s heart crumbled as he tucked his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into him. She buried her face into his chest and breathed in deeply, as if she was trying to breathe him in. To remember his scent. He stroked a hand over her still-damp hair, combing through it with his long fingers. 

“You never have to be alone,” he murmured against her hair. 

“I know,” she answered. “But…”

She trailed off, though both of them knew what she would have said. Since her visions of not being able to bear a child began, she had gone to bed alone more and more often, unwilling to share the burden with him—claiming she wanted to spare him from shouldering that weight. He hadn’t yet found a way to explain that he  _ did  _ shoulder it in her very unwillingness to share it.

“Shhh,” he whispered. “Let’s go to bed.”

She glanced at his desk. “But are you finished for the day?”

“I am now,” he answered, and felt her smile against his chest. 

She let him lead her to their bedroom, where she nestled her head into the crook between his shoulder and chest, asleep within minutes. 

Lucien lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Nights like this one were becoming more and more scarce. For every night they spent going to sleep in an embrace, there were half a dozen where Elain went to bed hours before him… and when he woke, her pillow was already cold. 

He wished he could find a way to make her understand that he didn’t care whether they had children in one year or fifty. He was even content to not have any at all. Children were a blessing, rare as they were, so he would be grateful to have one of his own… but not at the expense of losing his mate. He was selfish—he would prefer to be heirless and have her smile and laugh and never be plagued with those visions again. Those thoughts of inadequacy. But he couldn’t say that to her. It would break more than her heart—it would break her very spirit. Though, if these visions didn’t stop soon, he feared her spirit would break regardless.

He also couldn’t get tonight’s prophecy off his mind. 

_ The dove caught in the hunter’s snare. _

It was impossible to decipher the meaning when all he could think about was that for as long as he could remember, he’d called Elain “dove.” With so much on his mind, it was a sheer miracle he managed to fall asleep. Though with his mate tucked in close against his side, he finally had a full night’s sleep. Not once did he wake from dreams of a hollow echoing voice taunting him. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was originally part of the previous chapter, but as I was copying it to paste into AO3 chapter uploader, I whispered to myself "fuck this is a long chapter" and decided to separate them. Hope y'all don't mind two chapters in one night :)

“Lucien.”

He snapped his head up to look at Rhys. He’d been pacing, his mind bouncing between his brothers and Elain. When he’d woken this morning, Elain was already downstairs. The smell of cinnamon told him she was baking her preferred cinnamon rolls for breakfast. She seemed relatively normal all day, not once drifting into silence or staring off into nothing. He hadn’t had much of a chance to speak to her after breakfast though, since he, Azriel, and Rhys left before lunch to winnow here. To the house above the Court of Nightmares. 

He raised his eyes from the floor, meeting Rhysand’s violet stare, acknowledging that he’d heard him.

“Stop pacing.”

Lucien had not expected his nerves to be so wound up for this meeting. If he was this anxious for the meeting with his brothers, what was he going to do the day of Anlyn’s departure? He was being stupid… and he knew it. He was over two centuries old yet he felt like a boy again at the prospect of facing his brothers.

A servant ducked his head in to announce the arrival of their guests. Lucien cleared his throat and tugged at the hem of his tunic, straightening out any errant wrinkles. 

“You ready?” Rhys asked.

“As I’ll ever be, I suppose.”

“If Eris gets out of hand,” Rhys said, “Az can always attack him like he did at the High Lords meeting.”

Azriel groaned and rolled his eyes. 

“I’m still mad I missed that,” Lucien remarked. 

“Ask Feyre to show you the highlights sometime,” Rhys smirked before giving the servant a nod.

Lucien rose from the armchair he had just so recently sat in as Eris and Vesstan strode into the sitting room. Rhys and Azriel stood on either side of him, wings tucked in tightly behind them. 

“Lucien,” Eris said in greeting. His deep burgundy hair, not quite long enough to be tied back, was tucked neatly behind his tapered ears. 

Eris extended greetings to the Illyrians as Lucien fixed his attention on his other brother. 

“Vesstan,” he said slowly. “It’s been a long time.”

Vesstan was built similarly to Eris. All the Vanserra males had similar features, with the exception of Lucien. 

_That’s because I’m not a Vanserra_ , Lucien thought. _Not truly._

What set Vesstan apart from the rest of his brothers were his eyes. Lucien at least knew he inherited his deep russet brown eyes from his mother. His other brothers had amber eyes, as did Beron. But somehow, Vesstan ended up with eyes as bright as molten caramel, which stood out sharply against the curtains of long, mahogany hair. 

His brother startled him by reaching out and embracing him firmly. “Too damn long,” Vesstan said when he stepped back. 

“By my reckoning,” Lucien said, “we were never close.”

“Father’s doing, I’m afraid.”

Lucien cocked an eyebrow at his brother. 

“He gave us all orders not to befriend you. Not to include you.”

Lucien snorted with disgust. He wished he could say he was surprised, but nothing about that male’s cruelty surprised Lucien anymore. 

A memory pulled at the edge of Lucien’s mind. “You weren’t there,” he murmured. 

“Where?” 

“On the lake. In Winter…”

As Lucien and Feyre fled through the courts in their desperate attempt to reach Night. When Eris and two of Lucien’s other brothers caught up to them in the Winter Court. 

“I refused,” Vesstan said quietly. 

“And was whipped for it,” Eris added darkly. 

Lucien’s lip curled up in a growl of disgust. “Why?” He pondered aloud. “Why risk his wrath over and over to take my side?”

Vesstan shrugged as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re our youngest brother. It was our duty to protect you.”

For a fleeting moment, Lucien pictured what Autumn could truly be with someone like Vesstan as High Lord. It had the reputation of being the most bloodthirsty and cutthroat court in all of Prythian but with a different High Lord, it could change. It needed to change. 

“I will admit, brother, I spent far too long misjudging you,” Lucien admitted uncomfortably. 

“I don’t fault you for it,” Vesstan replied amicably. “Besides, Mother would have been devastated if something were to have happened to you.”

“Speaking of Mother,” Eris supplied as he claimed a seat nearest the fireplace. 

“Right,” Lucien said, reclaiming his own chair. 

The same servant as before returned with a polished silver tray bearing several glasses and a decanter with amber liquor inside. There was also a bottle of wine and a corkscrew. He set the tray down and made to uncork the wine, but Rhys stopped him. 

“It’s alright, Aesk. You can have the rest of the evening off.”

The young male inclined his head to Rhys. “Thank you, sir.”

As he turned to leave, Rhys called, “Oh and Aesk?”

“Yes sir?”

Rhys nodded to a small velvet bag on a table near the door. “Your holiday bonus. No excuses not to buy Shaesa that necklace she’s been hinting at.”

Aesk sketched a small bow and thanked Rhys over and over before closing the door behind him as he left. 

His brothers might see the exchange as Rhys showing off his wealth, but Lucien knew better. Rhys knew the names of all the servants both here and up at the House of Wind. And their spouses’ and children’s names. He valued everyone who worked for him as the individuals they were, not for the service they provided. Lucien admired him for it. 

“Now,” Rhys said, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. “To business. Help yourselves to whichever you prefer.”

Lucien was acutely aware of the attention Eris paid him as Azriel poured two glasses of whiskey, passed one to Lucien, and raised his own in a toast before drinking, his sapphire blue siphon catching the light. Once they were all seated and had their preferred beverage, Rhys began. 

“Alright… so how in the hells do we do this?”

“Helion is already appraised of the situation,” Eris said.

“Oh?” Rhys’s eyebrows rose. That was unexpected… but it made things considerably easier.

“Mother sent him a cipher too. Which he replied to and said he is prepared to receive her.”

Lucien leaned back against the chair’s high back, crossing his ankle over his knee. “If Helion knows what we’re doing, that works in our favor. It’s one less piece we have to connect.”

“Agreed,” Eris said. “But I would still suggest you all meet with him beforehand. Just to be thorough and sure both parties know their roles and expectations.”

Lucien, Rhys, and Azriel all nodded their agreement. 

“And little brother,” Eris added, a warning in his eyes. “He doesn’t know yet.”

Lucien grimaced. Helion had no idea that Lucien was his son, born of a secret affair Anlyn, the Lady of Autumn had with the High Lord of the Day Court. It was why Lucien had never been truly accepted in Autumn, once Beron learned the truth of Lucien’s parentage. Still, he never gave any inclination that he knew Lucien wasn’t his son. It would have made his lifelong hatred of Lucien make more sense. Instead, he’d grown up believing his father simply despised him. 

Briefly, he wished his mother had warned Helion of who Lucien was to him, though he immediately dismissed that notion. The only method Anlyn currently had to communicate with any of them was through letters—and that was not something that needed to be put in writing. That was the sort of information people were killed over. 

Lucien had never even met Helion. In all the years he served as Tamlin’s emissary and visited the Day Court, he never once met it’s High Lord. He always dealt with aides or Helion’s own emissary, but never Helion himself. That would make things more awkward, but they would cross that bridge later. 

“Lovely,” Lucien grumbled. 

“Quite the family reunion you have to look forward to, my friend,” Azriel quipped. 

Lucien shot his friend a sarcastic glare. “Just for that, I’m making you come along.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss it.”

Eris glanced back and forth between them before continuing. “I assume we’ll be operating similarly to the last time we snuck her out, then?”

Azriel nodded curtly. “Since I can fly, I suggest I be the one to actually take her to Day. It’s too far to winnow in one jump, so I can alternate flying and winnowing. It will decrease the likelihood of any guards or sentries noticing us.”

Vesstan leaned forward, his chin in one hand. “Why do you need me, then?”

“Because a glamour isn’t going to be enough,” Lucien answered. “We need one of you to keep the glamour up as long as possible and another to do your best at keeping Beron away from Mother’s rooms.”

“They don’t sleep in the same room?” Rhys wondered, his expression clearly showing what he thought about a husband and wife who didn’t share the same bed. 

“No,” Eris answered. “Not since… oh, it’s been a long time.”

“Since Lucien was twelve,” Vesstan supplied. “When Beron threatened to have him beat to within an inch of his life.”

“Why would he do that?” Rhys looked slightly nauseous. 

“It was unfortunately a very effective method of ensuring our Mother’s compliance with whatever he wanted.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t force her to stay in his room, then,” Rhys said with a grimace. 

“He tried,” Eris said. “But even Beron knows when not to push things past a certain limit.”

“I don’t suppose we could just have Eris and the others take him on a hunting excursion,” Lucien said wistfully. 

“No,” Eris replied immediately. “His suspicion would be at an all-time high and he would give his personal guards orders to double their patrols. He’s a paranoid dick when he leaves the manor.”

“For good reason,” Azriel muttered with a wicked smile. 

“Having Mother leave on an average day will give us the advantage,” Eris continued. “We’ll slip right under his nose.”

“Alright, then,” Lucien said. “Who’s going to be the one to maintain the glamour?”

“Vesstan,” Eris immediately volunteered, holding up fingers as he listed each reason why. “One, Vess is closer to Mother than I am. It would make sense for him to be on her side of the estate. Two, he’s a natural when it comes to glamours. He’s fooled me more than a few times, I hate to admit. And three, I’m the most likely to be up Father’s ass. As his heir, I have any number of reasons to be around him. Plus, Vess isn’t exactly chummy with our father, especially after the most recent whipping for disobedience. If Vess were to follow him around, he would become suspicious.”

“Then Lucien can be waiting in Day for her to arrive with Az,” Rhys supplied. 

All five males were silent as they collectively nodded, agreeing to the plan, and drank from their glasses. Lucien tapped his finger against the side of his glass as he contemplated any of the various ways this could go wrong. Still, they each had their roles to play and if everyone kept to their own part, they should get through it. 

“I think the best we can hope for,” Lucien said with a deep sigh, “is to go as long as possible without Beron noticing she’s gone. How often do they actually interact with one another?”

“Not often,” Eris answered. “Once a week at a minimum, since she is required to attend his weekly dinner with the court’s noblemen.”

Rhys cocked his head at Eris. “His what?”

“It’s just a flashy show of dominance,” Vesstan added, “Like a peacock showing off its plume.”

“Charming,” Rhys sniffed. “And what day of the week does this delightful dinner take place?”

“The fifth day of each week,” Eris answered. 

Lucien had marked his mother’s departure date on the calendar in his study, crossing off each day that brought it closer. He had memorized what date and day of the week it was. 

“Clever,” he mused. “She’s leaving the day after.”

“Giving her a full week before she’s expected to see Beron again,” Rhys said, having come to the same conclusion as Lucien. 

“Exactly,” Eris said. “Best case, he won’t know she’s gone for an entire week.”

“Do we have a contingency plan for once he finds out she’s gone?” Azriel challenged. 

“There isn’t much he can do after the fact,” Eris reasoned with an unconcerned shrug. 

“I fear there is a great deal he can do,” Lucien said darkly. “I wouldn’t put anything past Beron.”

“Let me rephrase,” Eris said. “There isn’t much he can do without stirring up conflict among all the courts. And I doubt that is something he would risk.”

Lucien bit back the retort he so badly longed to say. That he would turn the world upside down if anyone forcibly separated him from his mate. He knew his mother wasn’t Beron’s mate… but she was his wife. For over half a millennium, she’d been his wife. And Lucien doubted most sincerely that Beron would take kindly to the news that she’d left him.

Still, they could only plan so much. It wasn’t possible to have a response prepared for any number of actions Beron could take. They would just have to wait and hope he took the news as peacefully as possible. 

With their plan laid out and nothing else to do but wait for the day to arrive, Rhys stood and moved to refill his, Azriel’s and Lucien’s glasses. Eris refilled his and Vesstan’s wine goblets, moving to stand near Lucien’s chair. Lucien resisted the urge to cringe away. Despite their current partnership, he could not forget all the horrible things his brother had done to him. Or to others, as the memory of Eris holding a blade to Feyre’s neck flashed through his mind. Although, Lucien had to admit his own ledger was far from perfect. 

“You’ve really built a life here,” Eris marveled. 

“Well, what was my alternative? Waiting outside the borders of Autumn like a lost pup just waiting to be let back inside?”

“No, that isn’t what I meant. I only meant that I’m proud of you. I don’t know if I’ve ever told you that, but I am. Plenty of males have been through less that you and given up. It takes a strong person to not let everything you’ve endured break them.”

Lucien didn’t know what to say. It was true, Eris _had_ never said he was proud of him. 

“And here I thought you hated me,” Lucien chuckled weakly. 

“I did,” Eris admitted. “For a time. As the eldest, the power of High Lord should pass to me. But even when you were a boy, I could tell there was a power in you that paralleled mine. I was young and foolish.”

“Can I get you to put that in writing?” Lucien smirked. “I’d like to have it framed and give it to Mor for Solstice.”

Azriel’s eyes shot up to Lucien’s. Though the Shadowsinger’s expression never changed, there was gratitude in his eyes. Lucien understood. If Azriel had been the one to bring up Eris’s treatment of Mor, the eldest Vanserra was likely to feel attacked and drawn into an centuries-old feud. But in the years that followed the war with Hybern, Lucien had learned Mor’s story… and his heart had broken for her. If his brother felt uncomfortable when Morrigan’s name was brought up, he deserved it.

“I have much to atone for,” Eris said, clapping Lucien on the back. “And Morrigan is at the top of that list.”

Eris glanced around until his gaze fell on a corner table where parchment, quills, and an ink well sat. He strode over to the table, quickly penned a note, and signed it. 

“By the Caudron, Eris, I was joking.”

“I wasn’t,” Eris replied. “What I did to her was unforgivable.”

Lucien glanced down at the slip of parchment in Eris’s outstretched hand. 

_I, Eris Vanserra, have been a foolish, cruel, and insensitive ass and do not deserve the Morrigan’s forgiveness. Though I hope to someday be worthy of it._

_Signed,_

_Eris_

Lucien rolled his eyes as he took the note and passed it to Azriel. 

“Now, we’ll need something to bring back to Beron,” Eris said. “To make him believe this meeting was legitimate.”

Rhys produced a folded piece of paper. “A contract. Not signed, obviously. Since I assume your father would want to read it before we commit to such an arrangement. And the proposal and negotiations, signed by both you and I, which can be modified as either sees fit and so as not legally binding yet.”

“Indeed,” Eris said, pocketing both documents. “Clever, indeed.”

He moved to examine the tapestry at the wall, an intricate map of Prythian with all the specific locations of the Night Court conveniently missing. Lucien approached Vesstan and met his brother’s eyes. 

“You missed,” Lucien said, his voice low enough for the others not to hear. 

Vesstan didn’t have to ask him what he meant. “That was the day I lost all hope in him being a decent male.”

Lucien cleared his throat and even as Vesstan gazed at him, Lucien averted his eyes. “Do you hate me? For… you know… Corven and Taelith?”

Vesstan dug the toe of his boot against a rough groove in the wooden floor. “How could I? You were fighting for your very life. I hope I’m never put in that kind of position, but if I was, I can’t say I’d do any differently than you did.”

Rhys cleared his throat as he stood and stretched, his wings splaying out to their full width. Lucien choked back a laugh. _Arrogant bastard,_ he thought affectionately. 

“Well, it’s late,” Rhys said, “and I’d best be getting home to my High Lady.” He winked at Azriel and Lucien before turning his attention to Eris and Vesstan. “You are more than welcome to remain here tonight and return home in the morning. There are always a few members of the house staff here. They can show you to the guest rooms.”

A bold move, Lucien observed. Offering to let them stay the night without Rhys being there demonstrated trust in their new fragile alliance with Eris. 

“We appreciate the hospitality,” Eris replied, “but we’ll be on our way as well.” 

Lucien bid goodbye to his brothers before all five males winnowed out of the manor home above the Court of Nightmares. The weeks that followed were simultaneously the longest and shortest of Lucien’s life.


	13. Chapter 13

Waiting. 

It seemed that the majority of Lucien’s life now consisted of waiting. After Eris’s letter, he’d waited for the meeting with his brothers. Then came the painstakingly long weeks that preceded the meeting he would have with Helion—which was now less than twenty-four hours away. And in between it all, he waited for Elain to come back to him.

She still had days where she seemed herself, but as autumn nights grew longer and colder, Elain seemed to be drifting further away from him than ever. For every good night they shared, there were at least four or five in a row where she was closed off and unreachable. Still, he felt as if he should be doing more but feared if he put too much pressure on her, she would retreat so far inward she could never be called back again. 

So, he asked Rhysand to keep him busy. Having his mind occupied with tasks helped him avoid long days and even longer evenings. Twice since the meeting with his brothers, he’d traveled to other courts on official Night Court business. He even traveled to the Illyrian camps with Cassian once. Anything to keep him busy. 

But at long last, all of the waiting was coming to an end. The meeting with Helion was set to take place tomorrow and three days after that, Lucien’s mother would be leaving Autumn for good. He promised himself after this business with his mother was settled, he would devote all his attention to helping Elain. She told him over and over that she understood. That his mother was important and needed his help. Still, he needed her to understand that she was just as important, if not more so.

With a sigh, he stood from one of the tall bistro chairs lining the bar of their kitchen. The tea he poured himself earlier that evening had long since gone cold. Elain was already asleep and their house was silent. As he poured the tepid tea down the drain, the sound seemed to echo in their dark, quiet townhouse. Trudging up the stairs, he sent up a silent prayer to the Mother that the following day’s meeting was not nearly as awkward as he expected it to be.

***********************

The long stiff bench Lucien sat on shook slightly as he bounced his foot nervously. Brilliant sunlight streamed into the hallway through lightly stained glass windows. He and Rhysand were waiting for their audience with Helion and as they waited, Lucien took in some of the subtle changes the Day Court palace had undergone in the seventy years since he’d last visited. 

He noted a new fountain as they were led through an atrium upon their arrival. The floor, polished to a shine, was a mosaic of the sun, its rays a brilliant blending of reds, oranges, and yellows. The Day Court decor definitely emanated the radiance of its namesake, that was for sure. 

Lucien’s foot continued to bounce with nervous energy. Prior to coming here, Rhys and Feyre filled Lucien in on Helion’s friendship with his Night Court counterpart. Rhys explained that to the rest of the world, he and Helion were cooly respectful of one another but did not socialize when in truth, the two High Lords were closer than any of the others in Prythian. Rhys warned Lucien not to be surprised if their demeanor changed drastically depending on whether they were alone or if there were others in earshot. 

“I can’t decide which I’d prefer,” Lucien bemoaned. “If he knew or if it’s better that he doesn’t.”

Rhys cast him a sympathetic glance, which made Lucien abruptly halt his foot. He wished his mother had told Helion, though he knew why she hadn’t. Putting information like that into a letter would have been like signing her own death warrant if Beron were to read it. 

Despite Lucien’s joking insistence that Azriel be present for this meeting, the Spymaster elected to stay in Velaris. He claimed it was because with Rhys gone, he and Cassian were charged with keeping watch over the city… but Lucien suspected it was to keep watch over the current and future High Ladies, not the city. The entire Inner Circle was wrapped around Suri’s tiny wings. 

Lucien stared at the door at the far end of the hallway. The door that he knew led into a grand ballroom with a wide terrace overlooking the gulf. Helion’s palace sat in the northwest corner of the Day Court not far from the border it shared with Night. From that terrace, the Night Court could be seen on a clear day from across the small gulf. 

One of the heavy oak doors of the ballroom opened just enough for an attendant to slip out. His tunic was a rich golden shade emblazoned with the crest of the Day Court. “The High Lord is ready for you, sirs,” he said. “Shall I announce you?”

Rhys waved a hand dismissively while giving the attendant a warm smile. “No need, lad,” he replied as he pressed his palm flat against the door and pushed it open. 

“Helion!” Rhys called jovially. 

The ballroom was empty. Though from the terrace, Lucien heard an equally pleasant voice, deep and booming, call out, “Rhysand! Join me on the terrace. Or will your delicate Night Court eyes wither in all this sunshine?”

Rhys rolled his eyes but followed Helion’s voice out onto the wide stone terrace overlooking the gulf. The sunlight reflected off the water and glittered magnificently. Every court had its wonders, but the Day Court definitely managed to capture the sun’s radiance the best.

Helion stood as they emerged from the ballroom, snatching Rhys by the arm and pulling him into a bone-crushing embrace. 

“Haven’t seen you since the High Lords meeting,” Helion said. “And we all remember what _fun_ that was.”

Lucien choked as he remembered Mor telling him she’d slept with Helion after that meeting. Not the sort of thing he wanted at the forefront of his memory the first time he met him.

“This is my friend and emissary, Lucien,” Rhys said, gesturing to Lucien. “I’m sure you’ve heard his name even if you’ve never actually… met.”

It took immense willpower not to fidget as Helion finally directed his attention to Lucien. Hands still in his pockets, he tried to inconspicuously wipe his palms against the material of his trousers. Shaking hands with the High Lord of Day and his father with sweating palms would be an embarrassment he wouldn’t forget in a hurry. He felt like a fool. He’d served as Tamlin’s emissary for almost two centuries and had met all the other High Lords and foreign dignitaries. Yet, he couldn’t manage to raise his eyes to meet Helion’s. He almost wished he _didn’t_ know the High Lord of Day was his father. It would make this introduction immensely easier. 

To his own surprise, his hand was steady when he withdrew it from his pocket and extended it to Helion. 

“Well well,” Helion drawled, “it’s nice to finally meet you. You were the one in the fox mask, am I right?” He returned Lucien’s handshake firmly. 

Lucien nodded, resisting the urge to grimace. 

“Yes,” Helion said pensively. “I remember you from Under the Mountain. And before that, it seems any time you were here on visits for Tamlin, I was away.”

“It’s a shame we kept missing one another,” Lucien said, trying to ignore who Helion was to him and address him only as a High Lord he’d not yet met.

“A shame indeed.” Helion’s eyes surveyed Lucien from head to toe, smirking mischievously. “I don’t suppose you kept that mask, eh?” His bright golden eyes glittered as his eyebrows rose.

Meanwhile, Lucien’s mortification rose as Rhys’s eyes went wide. As Rhys firmly gripped Helion by the arm and yanked him aside, Lucien knew the heat burning his face had nothing to do with the midday sun bearing down upon them. 

Their plan had been to meet Helion, perhaps sit down over tea and lunch and discuss their plan for getting Anlyn here. They intended to break the news of Lucien’s parentage after business was handled, but Helion’s reputation for promiscuity made its appearance sooner than expected. Rhys hissed something into Helion’s ear that Lucien couldn’t quite make out. The High Lord’s head shot up and whipped around to Lucien, who fought the urge to bury his face into his hands and winnow into nothingness. 

Helion glanced back to Rhys, who nodded as he fought to keep his features neutral. Lucien’s gut roiled as Helion turned back around and approached him slowly, appraisingly. He stopped several paces in front of Lucien, his hand on his chin. “I honestly don’t know why I didn’t notice it immediately,” Helion said. “By the gods, it’s like looking into a mirror. If that mirror was younger and had a lighter complexion.”

Helion began walking in a slow circle around Lucien, who couldn’t hold his tongue any longer. 

“Is this how Feyre’s paintings feel after she hangs them on the wall?” Lucien wondered aloud.

Helion boomed a chortling laugh. “Well, you’ve definitely got my sense of humor!”

Lucien’s mouth hung open for a beat. Turning to Rhys, he glowered slightly. “What happened to business first, tell him later?”

Rhys roared with laughter. “I wasn’t expecting him to hit on you!”

Color and heat rose back to Lucien’s cheeks. 

“I make no apologies,” Helion said unabashedly. 

"You should when it's your own son!" Rhys roared with laughter. 

Lucien peered at him suspiciously. “So, just like that? You accept it that easily? No denial? No questions?”

Helion rose one eyebrow. “Oh, believe me, I have questions. But those can be answered in time. But Rhys has never lied to me before, and I have no reason to believe he would now. And besides,” Helion added, piercing Lucien with a palpable stare, “the resemblance is undeniable.”

“I do wonder why no one besides Feyre made the connection,” Rhys puzzled. “In fact, let me ask her.”

Lucien leaned against the stone railing of the terrace balcony, trying to ignore the look of mingled perplexion and wonder Helion was giving him. 

Rhys cleared his throat. “Feyre said she suspects it’s because outside of Tamlin and the staff in the Spring manor, she’s the only one who looked at you every day. She said when the conversation in our suite at Dawn turned to your mother, it just clicked for her.”

 _I’m going to paint you_. 

Feyre said that to him while she was still mortal, drunk on faerie wine at the summer solstice celebration in Spring. 

“She’s also an artist,” Lucien added. “Even if she doesn’t realize it, she spends more time than most studying the features of faces. She was bound to notice… similarities.”

Rhys nodded his agreement. “Well, now that’s handled, shall we discuss how to make this move go as smoothly as possible?”

Helion called for the same attendant who escorted them in, asking for lunch to be brought up, along with some whiskey. 

“Normally, lunch is served with tea, but I daresay we all need something a bit stronger, eh?” Helion said. 

As they ate, they reviewed the plan Azriel had devised. The glamours should be adequate to ensure no one notices Anlyn’s departure, but for the sake of being thorough, they ensured Helion was briefed on their expected arrival time and location. Helion supplied a map of the palace and grounds, advising the best locations for Azriel to winnow in. As he talked, Lucien discreetly watched Helion’s mannerisms, surprised to notice how many he shared with his father. Peculiar, since this was the first time they were together.

When he commented that he was planning to already have Anlyn’s suite prepared and ready for her, Lucien glanced at Rhys, whose confusion mirrored his own. 

“Her suite?” Rhys repeated. “I assumed she would be in your rooms with you.”

“If that is her choice,” Helion said, “I would be delighted. But…” His face fell slightly. “It’s been a long time.”

Lucien waited for him to go on, but after several long moments of silence, the High Lord of Day remained quiet. 

“And?” Lucien pressed. 

Rhys’s eyebrow rose at his friend. 

“And,” Helion leaned back in his chair and swirled the remnants of whiskey at the bottom of his glass. “Time has a way of changing people. Anlyn and I are both very different from who we were those centuries ago.”

Helion’s gaze was fixed on the table, at a small nick in the stone surface. Lucien knew that expression all too well. It was the one he himself had when he was lost in memories from another lifetime ago. 

“I told her long ago that Day would always be a safe haven for her should she choose to leave Autumn, regardless of whatever transpired between us. If it is her wish to come here solely to escape Beron, I will gladly open my home and my court to her with absolutely no expectations of her.”

A mix of gratitude and pity swelled in Lucien’s chest. He was grateful to Helion for being willing to give his mother sanctuary without expecting her to warm his bed, even though it was plainly written in his eyes that was what he wanted. To think she would leave Autumn, to come to Day, and not reunite with the male she loved… 

Though Lucien had to remind himself that Helion didn’t know all that Lucien did. When Anlyn visited Night a decade ago on Lucien’s birthday, she told him that she and Helion were mates, though she suspected Day’s High Lord had no idea. It suddenly felt wrong for Lucien to know when Helion didn’t. Still, it wasn’t Lucien’s secret to give away, and out of the respect he held for his mother, he wouldn’t tell Helion.

“Thank you,” Lucien said quietly, “for giving her a way out.”

Helion’s eyes rose from the table to meet Lucien’s. Identical. Though the color of Lucien's eyes matched those of his mother, the shape of Helion's was identical to Lucien's. His golden mechanical eye clicked and whirred, taking notice of Rhysand’s quiet departure back into the ballroom. 

“Your mother will always be welcome here,” Helion declared, all hints of amusement gone, “in any capacity she is comfortable with.” 

Neither male spoke for a long moment, the only sounds coming from the gulf waves crashing against the base of the cliff the palace sat atop. Lucien breathed in the scent of the sea breeze wafting over the terrace. Unlike the seasonal courts, the solar courts experienced all the seasons. Still, even though autumn was in full swing, the air wasn’t as sharp as it was in NIght. Granted, Night was further north, but not by much. Lucien supposed the Day Court’s power of the sun made it naturally warmer and brighter than in Night or Dawn. 

“As are you,” Helion continued. “I know you have a life in Night. You seem to have a true friendship with Rhysand as I’m sure you do with the others of his inner circle as well. But you are welcome here should you choose to make it your home.”

Lucien was quiet as he absorbed the gravity of that statement. Helion had barely known him an hour and was already offering him a home in Day. Some may consider an offer like that to be reckless or unwise… but from what Rhys told him about Helion and from his own observations, the High Lord of Day was the type of fae who did not second guess himself. He lived with passion and vibrance and few regrets. For that, Lucien envied him slightly. 

He had a home, though. His home was in the Night Court with Elain and Rhys and Feyre. He had friends in Night. He had a purpose. Still, after living for so long as a fugitive from his home court, feeling as if he was little more than a refugee in Spring, it was a welcomed change to have that choice. To not feel as if he had to stay in Night out of obligation or default. 

Lucien finally glanced up to meet Helion’s gaze once more. “Thank you,” he said again.

“You seem as if there is more you want to say?” Helion observed. 

Lucien took a breath but found he didn’t know the words to articulate his concern and sighed through his nose. 

Helion gave a gentle sigh of his own as he sat back in his chair, crossing his ankle over his opposite knee. “You’re concerned about the reputation I’ve amassed?” He guessed with a tight smile. “For being promiscuous?” 

Lucien’s own smile was apologetic yet firm. He had indeed heard that Helion was known for taking casual lovers, both male and female, often at the same time. He raised his hands in a gesture of no ill will. “Your life is your own to do as you will,” Lucien said. “It’s not for me to judge or say what is appropriate. All the same—”

“You’re concerned about what that will mean for your mother coming to live here,” Helion finished for him. He drained the rest of his glass before meeting Lucien’s eyes, though this time, Lucien did not avert his gaze. He stared back into the eyes that shone like the sun itself. Bright and golden, like beacons of light to cut through darkness.

“I mean no insult,” Lucien said, “but I will not risk my mother’s happiness any longer. She has spent too long as an arm piece with hidden bruises. I’ll not watch her leave that misery only to become one name on a long list of consorts.”

Lucien waited for the rage. The dismissal for speaking to a High Lord with such disrespect. But it never came. Instead, Helion spoke quietly and evenly. 

“You must understand,” he said almost pleadingly, “I had resigned myself to never seeing Anlyn again. I have never been one to allow myself to dissolve into a sea of self-pity. I accepted our fate and filled that absence with others, I will admit that. But if ever the day arrives when she wishes us to be as we once were, you can rest assured I will forego any and all former lovers immediately.”

It would be easy not to believe him. After all, Lucien had spent lifetimes alongside Tamlin, listening to him say whatever he needed to achieve his goals. Tamlin was indisputably the High Lord of Spring, but also the high lord of empty promises. For every time Tamlin swore he would never lash out in rage again, there were two more occurrences when he did. 

But Lucien saw none of that in Helion’s eyes. He saw the same utter conviction and devotion he himself felt toward Elain. He still knew practically nothing about this High Lord, but his mother trusted him, even after centuries apart. And alliances were built on trust and hope, not doubt and misgivings. 

“I wish she would have told me about you,” Helion added, so quiet Lucien almost didn’t hear him. “I understand why she didn’t. Couldn’t. But I can’t help but imagine how differently things might have happened if I had known…”

“To be fair, she didn’t tell me either,” Lucien said with a tiny shrug. “Not until Bryaxis told me.”

“Oh, that must have been fun,” Helion mused. 

“Positively delightful,” Lucien snorted. “Nothing like an eons-old creature of nightmares telling you about yourself.”

Helion barked a laugh, clapping Lucien on the back. They talked comfortably for a while, Helion telling Lucien more about his first meetings with Anlyn as Lucien recounted some of his early adventures with Tamlin. Lucien was relieved—and pleased—that Helion didn’t adopt an overly concerned parent attitude as they told one another stories of their lives. While it was undeniable that Helion was in fact Lucien’s father, Helion didn’t insult either one of them by attempting to immediately fill a void that had been left empty for so long. Instead, Helion spoke to him as an equal, not an inferior. 

As the sun began to dip into the horizon, their conversation circled back around to Lucien’s mother. 

“I confess, I’m both elated and terrified for your mother’s arrival here in two days.”

“Worried she won’t like what you’ve done with your hair?”

“Please,” Helion crooned. "Have you seen my hair?” He dramatically swept his long dark hair over his shoulder. Lucien choked as he inhaled his whiskey. 

“No, wiseass,” Helion continued. “But I am worried about whether or not she knows she’s my mate.”

Lucien’s eyes widened. “Well, that answers that question,” he muttered. 

“What question?” Helion arched his eyebrows with interest. 

Lucien could have kicked himself. “This conversation isn’t one you should be having with me. You should wait to have it with her.”

Helion’s eyebrows remained raised as he continued to stare at Lucien. Rather than answer, Lucien asked a question that had been on his mind. “Exactly how long has it been since you saw her?”

Helion appeared to be counting silently. “How old are you?”

Lucien snorted again as he remembered one of his earliest conversations with Feyre as they’d ridden side by side on horseback through the Spring Court forests. 

_How old are you?  
_ _Old.  
_ _Did you fight in the War?  
_ _Shit, Feyre—I’m not that old._

Helion _had_ fought in the War. Alongside Rhys and Tamlin’s father and so many other warriors, many now nothing more than ash and memory. 

“Two hundred sixty-three,” Lucien answered indifferently. 

“Well, assuming Under the Mountain doesn’t count,” Helion said with a grimace, “it’s been two hundred sixty-four years since I last saw your mother.”

“How—how long have you known she’s your mate?” Lucien couldn’t help asking, even though he’d just told Helion it wasn’t his place to have this conversation. 

Helion gave him a mirthless smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, I’ve known all along.”

Lucien felt as if a stone had been dropped into the pit of his stomach. Horrified, he asked, “This entire time you’ve known?” 

“I shouldn’t say ‘known,’’ Helion clarified. “I suspected it on... well, what I suppose was the night we created you.” He gave Lucien a sly teasing smile. 

Lucien’s face practically boiled and he wished he hadn’t asked. 

“But,” Helion graciously continued, “I knew it for certain when I saw her Under the Mountain.”

He grew quiet, long enough that Lucien almost asked another question when Helion spoke again. “It’s so odd how things make sense now. Under the Mountain, when you wouldn’t give Feyre’s name. When Amarantha ordered Rhys to…” Helion shuddered at the memory, and Lucien did too. “I was petrified at that moment, though it didn't make sense why—what did I care if Beron lost one of seven sons? I assumed it was merely because I didn’t want to see Anlyn grieve, especially her youngest. If I’d known then…”

Helion closed his eyes for a long moment and when he opened them, they were glassy and tinged with red. “I think it goes without saying that I ended up more grateful than I ever realized that Rhys didn’t turn your mind to dust,” Helion said with a weak chuckle. 

“Trust me, that makes two of us,” Lucien said. 

As the sun set further into the horizon of the sea, Lucien went on to say, “Over ten years.”

“Hmm?”

“You’ve known my mother was your mate for over ten years,” Lucien marveled. “How have you not gone insane?”

“I stay extremely busy,” Helion replied with a tight smile. 

“Still,” Lucien pressed. “Ten years. I barely made it two months.”

The willpower, the fortitude necessary to withstand ten years without his mate astonished Lucien. He thought back to the considerably shorter amount of time he remained in Spring while Elain had been wasting away in Night. How every day had felt like a lifetime. Knowing she existed yet not being able to be near her, take in her scent, feel her soothing presence. Even when she’d still been a shell and ignored his existence, he still felt as if he was where he was meant to be. 

Even worse than being physically separated from his mate had been the knowledge that she’d been engaged—in love—with another male. He supposed it might be easier for Helion, since he knew Anlyn held no love for Beron. Still… she was his wife, and as such, she was expected to share his bed. With a pang of guilt, he acknowledged that his ignorance to what Feyre had been doing in Spring when they returned from Hybern had been partially due to being preoccupied with his mate… and the human male she’d been engaged to. He had suspected Feyre was up to no good—he just hadn’t been bothered enough to care. 

“That doesn’t make you weak,” Helion insisted. “We’re talking about entirely different circumstances.”

“Even so, it’s a feeling I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy...Well,” Lucien considered. “Perhaps Amarantha. Or Ianthe. Those hateful hellspawn bitches deserved every abhorrent thing they ever did to anyone done to them.”

“Agreed,” Helion said with quiet rage. "Ianthe got what she deserved in the Weaver's cabin."

"You don't know the half of it," Lucien muttered bitterly. 

Helion eyed him curiously, but didn’t ask.

“It was your power,” Lucien continued, remembering something else. “In Hybern, just after Elain and Nesta were Made.”

Lucien briefly explained how the king of Hybern used magic to tether Lucien and Tamlin to the floor as Feyre’s sisters were forced one at a time into the Cauldron. How Lucien had somehow broken free of the spell at the sight of Elain shivering, soaking wet on the floor, while Tamlin remained leashed. 

“It comes in handy at times,” Helion said with a wry smile. 

“That it does.”

Just then, the attendant boy returned with a folded piece of parchment, which he handed to Lucien. He unfolded the note and recognized Rhys’s tidy scrawl. 

_I’m heading back to Velaris but stay as long as you like. We can manage until you get back. - Rhys_

Lucien glanced at the attendant who waited patiently at the stone arch of the terrace. 

“Can you tell him I’ll be along in a moment?”

“Of course,” the boy replied before scurrying off. 

Lucien stood and stretched. “Only two more days.”

“I am glad you came, Lucien.”

“As am I.” 

And he was. The prospect of meeting Helion had filled him with anxiety and dread, though now he chastised himself for worrying. The High Lord of Day, his father, was every bit of sarcastic and good-natured as Rhys. 

He bid Helion goodbye and turned toward the empty ballroom. The sun had already set, but the last of its pale rays still lit the western side of the palace, bathing the terrace in twilight. The brightest stars were just beginning to peek out from the east, the fainter stars still hidden until the sky darkened fully. A flare of light caught Lucien’s attention. From the corner of his eye, in the pale light of dusk, Helion’s dark ebony skin glowed softly. Lucien smiled to himself as he made his way through the ballroom and to the hallway beyond. 


	14. Chapter 14

Rain pelted the patio window as Elain sipped her tea, staring out at her garden while she thrummed her fingernails against the table. Wide, fat raindrops splashed against the stepping stones that led through her modest flowerbeds. It was the kind of rain that, were it cold enough, would be huge soft snowflakes come winter. Naturally, Elain’s favorite season was spring, but she couldn’t deny that she loved the beauty of Velaris when it was covered in glittering snow. 

The front door burst open, causing Elain to jump. Briar darted in, closing the door quickly behind her. “Miserable weather!” She exclaimed as she shrugged off her raincoat, peppering the floor of the entryway with water. 

Elain nodded her agreement. “I couldn’t believe Aridea when she said she and Mor are still going shopping in this.”

“They’re both ridiculous,” Briar replied. “Anything in those shops will still be there tomorrow. And I’d just as soon stay warm and dry while I pick up Solstice gifts.”

Elain smiled at her friend. Solstice was still over a month away, but her friend was a firm believer in early shopping. She’d been positively aghast last Solstice season when Cass and Azriel boasted about getting their shopping done at the very last minute. 

“There’s some tea left in the kettle on the stove,” Elain said. 

Briar glided over to where Elain sat and peered into her mug. “And it looks like you need more anyway,” she noted, snatching Elain’s empty mug and carrying it into the kitchen. 

A moment later, Briar returned with two steaming mugs. Setting them both down on the table, she sat opposite Elain and followed her friend’s gaze toward the rain-flecked windows. 

“Where’s Lucien?”

Elain pretended not to hear the apprehension in Briar’s voice. It was the game she played with everyone now. They all had seemed to notice that she and Lucien were just… existing lately. Not thriving like they had when they’d first been mated. Most of the others simply patted her shoulder and told her all couples went through those kinds of spells and that she shouldn’t be too worried. 

“You two adore each other,” Cass said once after a family dinner. “You’re just in a slump. These things come and go.”

Feyre tried to be sympathetic, but having a toddler consumed almost all her time. Not that she neglected her friends and family since becoming a mother… she just had her hands full more than she had before Suri was born. 

Nesta… well, she had been one of the only ones who outright confronted Elain about it. But that had been almost six weeks ago and so far, nothing had changed. Elain argued with herself often about it. To an immortal, six weeks was like the blink of an eye. But she was only thirty and though she would never look a day older than twenty—her age when she’d been made—she hadn’t yet lived past the normal lifespan of a mortal, so the concept of everlasting time was still a bit lost on her. 

Her visions had devolved into nightmares that visited her more frequently in her sleep than during waking hours. Which, she supposed was preferable, since she didn’t have to suffer the nausea and lightheadedness that followed a vision. Even so, she would wake with dread and hopelessness pooled in the pit of her stomach, which still made her reluctant to eat breakfast. 

She really had tried to take Nesta’s advice though. When the nightmares would wake her, instead of retreating deeper beneath the covers to close herself off, she tried letting Lucien in. When she would wake, her heart beating erratically from the nightmares, she nestled against his side, letting that familiar warmth serve as a comfort to her. When the morning sun would wake them, she would tell him about the nightmares, or at least that she’d had one. 

But the Whisperer was ever-present in the back of her mind. Even when she couldn’t hear its wicked voice, she repeated its words to herself. And the constant fear that her mate would grow to resent her lingered like the stubborn tail end of winter that would not surrender to spring. That voice was what caused her to lack any real conviction in letting her mate try to help her. Because what help could he really offer, anyway? There was nothing either of them could do to stop her visions. 

“He’s in Day with Rhys,” Elain answered listlessly. “Meeting with Helion to prepare for his mother’s arrival.”

“Oh, right. That’s soon, isn’t it?”

“Two days,” Elain replied, staring at the raindrops on the patio window, her vision blurring to the bustling city beyond. Everyone kept telling her to look at the bigger picture—not to dwell on the tough times but look toward a brighter future. But she just didn’t know how. How could she look past the now in favor of what could be when she couldn’t even look past her window at the world outside it?

Briar laid a gentle hand on top of Elain’s. “Soon,” she promised. “I know how much of his time and attention this venture has taken. And I know you feel guilty for having to share it.”

Shame licked at Elain’s heart. Part of her _did_ feel guilty that she wanted Lucien’s undivided attention. She often argued with herself that it wasn’t fair to feel that way, considering how long he and his mother had been separated. And yet, another part of her felt guilty for entirely different reasons. 

At times, she felt guilty for _not_ caring that Lucien’s attention was elsewhere. For feeling relieved that he wasn’t being more observant of her. She wished she could tell him about the Whisperer but had no idea how to broach the subject without sounding crazy. She wanted to think her mate would believe her, or at least say he did, without making her feel judged. There was so much pressure on her, trying to gauge his reaction to everything before she told him, that now… Now that she was finally starting to build the courage to tell him, she didn’t know how to do it.

Briar’s hand still rested atop her own. Briar, the fierce friend who began her life in Prythian under such dreadful circumstances. Who had been so timid and afraid but after time and healing, had made herself a place in this world. Briar once confessed that she would have likely lived as a recluse forever in Winter had she not met Aridea. She told Elain once that she’d been too overwhelmed and afraid to tell her story—her experience—to anyone for fear of judgment or ridicule. 

A Child of the Blessed is what she started as. A fanatical idiot who worshiped the High Fae like gods and goddesses. Her naivety and foolish ideations were what led to her capture by the Hybern soldiers… and the horrors she experienced in that camp were some that would never truly leave her. When Azriel and Feyre came to Elain’s rescue and insisted on Briar leaving the camp with them, she’d been afraid that she was being vaulted out of a frying pan only to land in the fire. 

But she told Elain later that she knew with certainty she would have died in that camp. She’d had no idea where Azriel and Feyre were taking them… she could have died just as easily by going with them. But she also had the potential to live. She often teased Elain that their friendship began with Elain screaming at her. 

_If you want to live, do it now!_

Elain smiled faintly at the memory. Not of the escape itself, but of Briar recounting her story many years later. When Elain asked how it was so easy for Briar to talk of such horrors, she said that each time she told the narrative, it got a bit easier. In Winter, Aridea coaxed it out of her… and then encouraged her to tell it again. And again. Until she no longer trembled or wept when she recounted her tale. 

Perhaps there was something to that, Elain thought. She carried such a tremendous weight in keeping the Whisperer a secret from her mate. Perhaps she needed to tell someone else about it first, so that it would become easier to tell Lucien. A practice run, so to speak. 

“Can I tell you something?” 

“Of course,” Briar’s eyes were calm and gentle. Welcoming. 

“Promise you won’t tell anyone.”

“I promise.”

“Not even Lucien.”

Briar’s mouth tightened to a thin line and her eyes narrowed. “You shouldn’t keep anything from him.”

“I’m not. I intend to tell him… but I don’t quite know how. I’m hoping by telling you, I’ll figure that out.”

Briar’s eyes softened and her smile returned. “Then I promise.”

Elain took a breath. “And promise you won’t think I’m crazy.”

Briar actually laughed softly, but not unkindly. “After everything I’ve seen in the past decade, I don’t think anything you could tell me would sound crazy.”

Elain slid her hand from beneath Briar’s. Twirling the tail of her braid between her fingers, she closed her eyes for a long moment, taking several slow, deep breaths. 

“You’re starting to make me nervous.”

Elain stopped twirling her braid, going so far as to wedge her hands beneath her thighs to keep from fidgeting. “I have no idea how to begin. I suppose—”

“Wait,” Briar held up a hand. “Please tell me you’re not about to confess there’s someone else. I know I promised not to tell anyone, but I don’t think I could keep that kind of a secret from Az. You’re my best friend and I love you, but… You know he and Lucien are close. I can’t—”

“Gods, no!” Elain exclaimed. “Nothing like that.”

The very thought made bile rise into Elain’s throat. She and Lucien were going through a difficult time, that was true. But not once had Elain ever wanted to be with anyone else. Lucien _was_ her daylight and even if the Whisperer locked her in endless darkness, she would never want to lose sight of the one person who filled her life with light as no one else could. 

“I just… don’t know how to explain,” Elain said. 

“Don’t explain,” Briar countered. “Just blurt it out. The explanation can come later.”

She still didn’t know exactly how to explain it, but for Lucien—for her mate—she would find a way to talk about the Whisperer until she had the courage to tell him about it. 

“I’m hearing a voice that no one else can hear,” Elain said in a rush, wincing at the sheer absurdity of the statement. 

To her credit, Briar didn’t laugh or scoff. She interlaced her fingers together and rested her hands on the table. “I assume this is unrelated to your visions?”

Elain could have kissed her friend, who looked expectantly at her. Didn’t mock her or tell her she was in fact, insane. Instead, Briar immediately began trying to understand exactly what they were dealing with. 

“Yes, at least, I think so. Sometimes I hear it just before or after a vision, but other times I hear it on its own.”

“What does it say?”

Elain shuddered, trying to shake off an invisible weight that hovered over her. “Awful, cruel things.”

“Such as?”

Everything the Whisperer had ever said to her began repeating in her mind. The cacophony of hate and misery and hopelessness threatened to overwhelm her. She couldn’t think straight to answer her friend. 

“Just pick one thing and we’ll go from there,” Briar suggested. 

She was barren. She was useless. She was deficient. She would disappoint her mate and he would leave her. Closing her eyes, Elain stamped down on the noise inside her mind. She tried to focus on the one thing the Whisperer said most often.

“‘I know what you fear,’” Elain said, her own voice barely above a whisper. “That’s what it says every time it appears.”

Briar’s eyes were wide. 

“What do I fear?” Elain asked, meeting her friend’s eyes. “Is that what you were going to ask me?”

Briar shook her head, her eyes still wide. 

“It all relates to the same issue though,” Elain explained, glancing down at her half-empty tea. It seemed Aridea’s method of getting Briar to open up had some merit, because once Elain started talking, she found it much easier to continue, even if she hated the words she spoke next. “Because of my visions, I’m afraid that I’ll never be able to give Lucien a child.”

Elain kept her eyes cast down at her mug, unwilling to see the pity that undoubtedly filled her friend’s eyes. “It tells me I’m destined to be barren and that Lucien will eventually get fed up and leave.”

Her eyes unexpectedly filled with tears. She’d heard the Whisperer hiss those foul things inside her head for months now and she hadn’t wept since early on when the voice first began visiting her. No, not visiting, she corrected herself. Visiting implied a welcomed guest and the Whisperer was far from welcome. It was an invader inside her mind. But finally saying it aloud made it more real somehow, and for that, she wept. 

Briar was so silent, Elain temporarily forgot she was there. She composed herself, wiping away the tears on her cheeks, and looked up. Briar was staring into her own mug, and though she was merely across the table from Elain, she looked like she was thousands of miles away. 

“Bee? What’s wrong?”

Briar looked up at her, all color drained from her face. Her eyes were hollow and dark when she said, “I’ve heard it too.”


	15. Chapter 15

A heavy rain blew in from the gulf just before Lucien and Rhys were preparing to winnow home. It had the makings for a brief storm, but powerful. It wasn’t impossible to winnow through a storm like it, but it complicated matters. Rhys turned to Lucien and gave him a half smile. 

“We can push through it if you want to go home,” he said. “Or Helion has offered to let us stay the night.”

“Did he actually offer, or are you just inviting yourself?” 

“What do you think?” Rhys smirked. 

“Incorrigible Illyrian bastard,” Lucien muttered. 

The same attendant from earlier showed them to one of the guest suites, though it seemed he needn’t have bothered. Rhys walked alongside the boy instead of a few paces behind. When they turned a corner, Rhys held up a hand to stop the boy. 

“The guest suites on the southeastern wing?”

The attendant nodded. 

“I know the way from here. Tell Helion I’m grateful for his hospitality, as always.”

The boy acknowledged Rhys with a small bow of his head before retreating back around the corner and to the center of the palace. 

Rhys led them the remainder of the way down the corridor and through a set of double oak doors. The guest suite was nearly the size of Lucien’s townhouse, if all the rooms were on the same level. 

“By the Cauldron,” he murmured. “Are all his ‘guest suites’ this lavish?”

“No,” Rhys chuckled. “This is one he reserves for visiting High Lords. Because Cauldron forbid they feel like commoners.”

Lucien snorted as he unbuckled the baldric from his chest. 

“There are two rooms,” Rhys explained. “With a joined bathing room and sitting room. Take whichever room you want.”

As Rhysand kicked his boots off, he added, “We should probably let our better halves know we won’t be home tonight.”

Lucien nodded, though with a pang he doubted Elain would even be bothered by him staying away for the night. All the same, he reached out for her through their bond. 

**_You still awake?_ **

A short delay followed by a bemused smile. 

_It’s not even eight in the evening, of course I’m awake. I’m not an elderly crone yet._

**_You’ll never be a crone._ **

_Not even when I’m five hundred?_

A scoff. **_Not even when you’re a thousand._ **

_Flatterer._

**_It isn’t flattery if it’s true._ **

Her smirk was so powerful he could practically see it.

_Are you still in Day?_

**_Yes, we were hit with a storm as we were preparing to come home._ **

_Here as well. The rain started shortly after lunch and has carried on all day._

**_It must be a wide storm then. We’re planning to winnow in the morning after the storm has broken._ **

Their bond was silent on her end, though he could still sense her enough to know their connection remained open. 

**_Do you need anything?_ **

_No, Briar is here. She said she will stay the night._

**_I’ll see you tomorrow then._ **

She nodded down the bond. Lucien paused, then tugged on the bond once more. 

**_Elain?_ **

_Hmm?_

**_Are you tired of hearing me say it yet?_ **

He felt her smile, the warmth radiating down the bond as if she were molten sunlight. 

_Never._

His chest ached. She had been so emotionally distant since the visions, he secretly worried she might actually tire of hearing it. But then there were moments like this one that gave him enough hope to keep pressing forward. 

**_I love you._ **

_I love you._

The room around him seemed to grow cold when she closed the connection. He sighed, kicking off his boots and ambling toward the bedroom to the right of the sitting room. He was glad Briar was staying the night with her, though he knew that meant she wouldn’t get much sleep. Those two females could most definitely burn the midnight oil. 

Before he reached the door to the bedroom, Rhys said, “You and Helion appeared to be getting along?”

Lucien paused in the doorway. “It’s… strange,” he admitted. “To live for centuries thinking one male is your father only to learn he isn’t. And that your true father is so very different from the family you were brought up in.”

“Helion is a good male,” Rhys said. “He acts like an ass in front of the other High Lords who are natural assholes. Beron and Tamlin mostly. But in reality, he is kind and generous. He’d give you the shirt off his back… if he wore one.”

Lucien chuckled at that. The fashion of the Day Court was definitely different from any of the other courts in Prythian. 

“I am sorry we didn’t get the opportunity to introduce you properly,” Rhys added. 

“Yeah, about that—”

“Look, I had to think fast,” Rhys chortled. “Though I’ll admit, Helion eyeballing you like you were something he couldn’t wait to undress was _not_ something I predicted. Or planned for.”

Lucien’s face burned again. “I hate you.”

“Hey, at least I stopped him before he could go any farther!”

“If you ever try to use this in a future game of ‘I’ve Never,’ I’ll incinerate you.”

Rhys howled with laughter. “Thanks for the idea!”

Lucien groaned with humiliation. “Cauldron boil me.”

“Careful what you wish for,” Rhys joked as he disappeared through the doorway of the other bedroom. 

**************************  
  


“What do you mean, you’ve heard it too?” Elain was surprised to hear how calm her own voice sounded, considering the roaring in her ears and the erratic beat of her heart. 

Briar was still staring into her mug of untouched tea. “I mean—it’s spoken to me.”

Elain blinked several times, her mouth hanging open slightly. 

“Well… what has it said?”

“Same as you,” Briar said, her voice a bit shriller than usual. “‘I know what you fear.’”

Elain’s blood froze as several emotions warred for her attention. Relief that someone else had heard it. That she wasn’t crazy. Dread that this mysterious voice was plaguing someone else. Someone she cared about. Confusion at what this thing actually was… and its purpose. Anger that whatever it was, it wouldn’t leave any of them in peace. 

“What—what does it say to you?” Elain dared ask again. 

Slowly, Briar raised her eyes from her mug to meet Elain’s. “It reminds me that I’m mortal and I’ll eventually grow old and die while the rest of you remain as you are—immortal. Unchanged.” Her voice quivered but she continued. “It says I’m just a temporary distraction for Azriel. That in a hundred years, he won’t even remember my name.” 

The anger was what settled in Elain’s chest. They had won the war against Hybern, survived being made by the Cauldron, and against all odds, found one another to form a family full of misfits and dreamers. Weren’t they entitled to be left alone and live their lives without any further strife?

_Self-centered stupid girl._

Elain went rigid as the voice curved up her spine and prowled inside her head, settling in her mind like a dense fog. She clapped her hand over her mouth to prevent her from replying aloud. She was grateful Lucien was away for night—when he was near, it was practically impossible for her to reply wordlessly to the Whisperer without unintentionally sending some portion of it down their bond. But Lucien was still in the Day Court and would be until tomorrow morning; they’d talked briefly not long after Briar arrived and announced she would be staying the night.

All the same, Elain screwed up her concentration in order to speak to the Whisperer without opening the bridge to her bond with Lucien. 

_Go… away._

_It’s_ your _fault I’m here to begin with._

Elain had no idea what that was supposed to mean. How could it be her fault? She didn’t even know what this thing was. 

_What… do you.... want?_

A chill ran down Elain’s spine as the Whisperer replied. 

_To watch your world burn… one fear at a time._

Despite her efforts to appear as if nothing was amiss, she began trembling so hard it would have been impossible for Briar not to notice. Which she did. 

Briar stood abruptly, pushing her chair back and surging forward, wrapping Elain in a tight embrace. 

“What the—” Elain faltered as the Whisperer’s presence vanished without warning. Not even a lingering sinister laugh remained. 

“What did you do?”

“It thrives off misery and terror,” Briar said as she released Elain. “I figured out by a lot of trial and error—and a bit by accident—that it can’t exist when its host is warm and happy and loved.”

“Host?”

“Best I can figure, it’s got no form of its own. So it just hops from person to person spreading its despair.”

Briar chewed on her bottom lip for a moment before grabbing Elain’s hand. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“I know I told you I’d stay here tonight, but we have to go tell Azriel.”

“No!” Elain objected, yanking her hand out of Briar’s. “You promised you wouldn’t tell anyone!”

“Az already knows,” Briar explained gently. “I told him as soon as this… whatever it is started hissing in my ear.”

“Azriel knows?”

“And hasn’t breathed a word to Lucien, so come on.”

Elain dug her heels into the carpet. “Okay, but just wait. It’s still pouring. What are we going to do, go running off into the dark in the middle of a tempest?”

“Well, how else do you propose we talk to him? I can’t winnow and I don’t have a mental bridge directly into his mind like you and Lucien.” Despite the obvious effort Briar took to keep her bitterness at a minimum, Elain could clearly detect it now. 

Out of habit, Elain’s eyes drifted to all the corners of the townhouse. Into all the shadows to see if an Illyrian warrior with glowing blue siphons would emerge. She jerked her head back toward the shadow cast by the curtain pulled back from the patio door, now rippling slightly. Azriel stepped out of the shadow, looking expectantly between the two equally surprised females.

“How did you know we were coming to see you?” Elain wondered aloud. 

“Briar didn’t come home,” Azriel replied with a shrug. “I peeked through the shadows once an hour to ensure you were both alright. Old habits, sorry.”

He seemed to notice Elain’s startled expression and rushed to add, “I don’t do this regularly. Just tonight because it’s storming and I hadn’t heard from Briar. And I wasn’t eavesdropping. I only looked, not listened.”

“You can do that?” Briar marveled. 

“Yes. I only came through the shadows when I noticed you about to leave.”

Briar wasted no time, rushing over to Azriel and taking his hands in hers. “Elain has heard the same voice that we’ve heard.”

“Wait, ‘we?’” Elain said sharply. “Az, you’ve heard it too?”

“Only once,” Azriel admitted. “Before Briar told me about it. But yes, I have heard it.”

Elain knew better than to ask Azriel what fears it brought up for the Shadowsinger. She doubted if Briar even knew them. Azriel had made incredible progress with opening up and talking more, but he was still reserved and the quietest of their family. 

“I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse,” Elain said despondently. 

“What do you mean?” Briar asked. 

“Well… part of me is relieved that it isn’t just me,” Elain reasoned. “But a bigger part almost wishes it was. If it was only in my head, I could possibly just have been mad. But if others are hearing it…”

“Then it’s real,” Azriel finished for her. 

She nodded gravely. “And I’d be willing to bet if we’ve all heard it, others have as well.”

“And we don’t know how to stop it,” Briar supplied. “We don’t even know what it is. Or what it wants.”

Elain shifted uncomfortably on her feet. “Before Briar chased it off a few minutes ago, it said it wanted to watch our world burn one fear at a time.”

“Then I’d almost guarantee it’s gone after others,” Azriel said. “We need to tell Rhys about this immediately.” 

“It’s two in the morning,” Elain countered. “Plus, he and Lucien are still in Day.”

Azriel’s mouth tightened as he appeared to consider something. He glanced at Briar. “You two stay together tonight. Please.”

“Where are you going?” Briar asked, her eyes wide with worry. 

“Rhys needs to know about this. Now. I just have a bad feeling.”

Briar folded herself against Azriel’s chest. As he wrapped his wings tightly around her, returning her embrace, Elain became very interested in the embroidered pattern on her own curtains, as if she hadn’t selected them herself two seasons ago and was seeing them for the first time. 

“I’ll be back in the morning, if not sooner,” Azriel promised, releasing Briar and stepping backwards toward the shadows. 

“Wait,” Elain called. 

The shadows halted around him, suspended in animation. 

“If at all possible,” Elain beseeched, “please don’t tell Lucien?”

“All I plan to tell them is the nature of this being,” Azriel said. “Not anything specific it has threatened. That is not my business to share.”

“Thank you.”

“But _you_ need to tell him,” Az added, the darkness returning to shroud him in shadow. “Sooner, rather than later.”

He was right, though she didn’t want to admit it. She would tell Lucien… just not yet. The visions were enough to deal with. She didn’t want to add more burdens to the weight he already carried. In the time it took her to blink, Azriel vanished completely. 

**************************

Lucien woke to the sound of hushed voices coming from the sitting room. The storm had finally passed, as evidenced by the strong shaft of moonlight shining in from the window onto the nightstand, illuminating the burnished brass cover of the pocket watch—a Solstice gift from Elain three years ago—and the engraving inside. 

_I’m yours. Until time itself stops._

Groggily, he reached for the watch and checked the time. Almost three in the morning. 

Sitting up, he swept his long red hair away from his face. He recognized Rhys’s voice immediately, as well as the other speaker. But what in the Cauldron’s soggy depths was Azriel doing here? He pulled on his trousers and emerged into the sitting room just as Rhys said, “Let me get Lucien. He needs to hear this too.”

“No need,” Lucien said with a yawn. “I’m awake. What’s the matter?” He took in their grave expressions and instinctively reached down the bond for his mate. He could sense her, unresponsive but there. She was asleep. 

“Nothing,” Rhys rushed to answer. 

“If nothing was the matter,” Lucien appealed, “Az wouldn’t have shown up at three a.m.”

“Sorry to disturb your beauty sleep,” Azriel quipped. “I know how much you need it.”

“Bold words from a male who shows up in the middle of the night without—”

“Coffee?” Azriel interrupted, gesturing to a small table beside the sofa where a glass carafe filled with steaming hot coffee and several mugs sat waiting. “You wound me, Lucien. I know you better than that.”

Lucien tilted his head in acknowledgment and appreciation as he poured himself a generous serving. 

“So,” he said after downing half the mug in one gulp, “what couldn’t wait until we got home tomorrow?”

“There has been an… emergence of what could potentially be a viable threat to Prythian,” Azriel supplied. 

“That tells us almost nothing,” Lucien pointed out. 

Azriel sighed, leaning back awkwardly against the too-small armchair, clearly not made with Illyrian wings in mind. “I was at your house earlier. Briar and Elain were… concerned about something that they only just tonight realized the other was experiencing.”

Lucien drained the rest of his coffee and poured another mug full as he listened. He was intrigued, considering the only thing he knew Elain to be experiencing was visions. And Briar wasn’t a Seer… as far as any of them knew. 

“Not visions,” Azriel clarified, seeming to notice Lucien’s visible confusion. “They’ve both heard a voice. Bodiless and echoing. I’ve also heard it once."

Lucien’s blood turned to ice in his veins. The voice in the woods. And again in his study. Lucien believed he’d been going mad with the stress of Elain’s visions and how taxing they were to her. He hadn’t even considered the possibility that others were hearing it too. 

“What’s the matter?” Rhys demanded, his deep violet eyes watching Lucien intently. 

“I’ve—I’ve heard it,” Lucien said with a shudder. 

“What?” Azriel whipped his head around sharply.

“Assuming it’s the same voice, of course.”

“Let’s hope there is only one sinister bodiless voice campaigning through Velaris,” Rhys muttered. 

“It is,” Az replied. “At least, I’m confident the one Elain, Briar, and I have heard is the same. It always uses the same phrase — ‘I know what you fear.’”

Lucien’s heart sank. “It’s the same.”

Quickly, Lucien recounted the two times he’d heard the voice and what it said. 

Outside the window, dawn had begun cresting over the horizon. The sky had turned a pale blue, hazy in the final threads of darkness before first light. Rhys’s fingertips were steepled and pressed against his mouth, a telltale sign that he was pondering deeply. 

“I don’t like this,” Rhys said when Lucien finished explaining. “I’ve never even _heard_ of anything like this in Prythian.”

“You know who might,” Azriel said, his voice low and gravelly. 

Lucien subconsciously nodded even though Azriel’s statement was not directed toward him. “The Tiny Ancient One,” he said with a sigh. 

Despite the grave conversation, Rhys chuckled. “You’re seriously still afraid of her?”

“I’m not convinced she lost all her power,” Lucien said. “She’s just contained it because she likes us.”

“Most days,” Azriel added. 

“I’ll ask her,” Rhys declared. “The only other being that was as old, or possibly older than Amren would have been the Bone Carver.”

“But we can’t exactly ask him,” Azriel pointed out, standing and stretching his wings. “Unless you know how to get to the afterlife and back.”

Az yawned and extended his wings as wide as they would stretch, the talon at the end of one poking Rhys in the shoulder. Their High Lord clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes, shrugging away from Azriel’s wing. “Show off,” he muttered. 

The first rays of sunlight were peeking in through the window by now. Lucien squinted as one ray shone directly into his face. “Can we go home now?”

“Indeed,” Azriel nodded. 

“Gods willing, there won’t be a next time,” Rhys said, his voice low and commanding, “but anything like this happens again, notify me _immediately._ Understood?” 

Lucien and Azriel both nodded wordlessly before the three of them winnowed out of that bright, sunlit room into the crushing darkness. Even though Day shared a border with Night, Velaris was much further north than the border. As such, they had two jump points that they winnowed to, walking for about half an hour each time in order to reserve strength. At last, they reached the final waypoint and when Lucien opened his eyes, they were standing once more in Velaris. 


	16. Chapter 16

Lucien turned to head down the sidewalk toward his house, but the sound of Rhys clearing his throat stopped him. He paused, glancing over his shoulder. 

“Amren,” was all Rhys said. 

With a resigned sigh, Lucien adjusted the pack on his shoulder and turned around, following Rhys into his own townhouse. Inside, Azriel was showing Suri how to fold her wings in and drape them over her shoulders, but at the sight of Lucien, she bounded over to him, holding her arms up and bouncing on the balls of her feet. Lucien knelt to pick her up, tilting his head away as she reached for his metallic eye. 

“Nuala and Cerridwen will be here any moment,” Feyre said. “Rhys said he needs to talk to us so the twins are going to take Suri out to pick up breakfast pastries for us.”

“Good,” a sharp female voice said from the entryway. “Then all the ones I brought are for me, then.”

“Good morning to you too, Amren,” Feyre called from across the sitting room.

A few moments later, Suri was skipping happily between the two wraith twins down the cobblestone sidewalk toward Archie’s bakery. Lucien, Amren, Feyre, Azriel, and Rhys sat in their respective preferred armchairs or sofa seats. Just as Rhys was about to begin, Azriel held a hand up. 

“We should probably get Elain and Briar here first. They’ve both heard it too.”

“Heard what?” Feyre asked. 

“In a minute,” Rhys said. 

Lucien’s gut twisted uncomfortably. He would have preferred the chance to talk to his mate in private about this mysterious voice they’d both heard… and not told the other about. Lucien hadn’t told Elain for fear of sounding insane. He couldn’t guess why Elain kept it a secret. So much of her was shrouded in mystery lately. 

“Do you want to call her?” Azriel asked, looking pointedly at Lucien. “Or would you like me to go get them?”

It was still quite early. Feyre was only awake because of Suri and as for Amren... well, Amren didn’t seem to need as much sleep as the rest of them. Just reconfirming Lucien’s suspicion that whatever she was was not entirely High Fae. 

“Let me see if she’s awake,” Lucien replied. 

He tugged on the bond, reaching down that invisible bridge between them. Just as it had last night, the bond was present, but inactive. 

“She’s still asleep,” he announced. 

“I’ll go,” Azriel said gently. “I’ll wake Briar first.”

While they waited, Rhys tempted fate by attempting to steal a chocolate stuffed croissant off Amren’s plate. She bared her teeth at him and hissed.

“Oh, come on!” Rhys protested. “You’ve got an entire platter full!”

“And your charming daughter will be back with some for you later. These are mine.”

Rhys just glowered at her. Amren glowered back. Feyre, stuck between them on the sofa, crossed her arms and huffed. “You two are like feral cats.”

For twenty minutes, Rhys tried and failed to liberate one of the pastries from Amren’s plate until the front door opened and Azriel reentered, followed by Elain and Briar. 

“What’s this all about, then?” Briar asked. 

“The voice you’ve been hearing,” Rhys replied, suddenly all business. Amren wore a victorious smile, her plate of breakfast breads still in her lap. 

Elain glanced sharply at Lucien. He offered her a weak half-smile as he shifted on the oversized armchair, making room for her. She drifted over and sat beside him though instead of leaning against him like she normally would have, she remained rigid, her back straight and her shoulders squared. 

“Now that we’re all here,” Rhys said, “I want everyone to give their account of this voice you’ve all been hearing.”

Elain never moved, never shifted, yet Lucien could practically feel her eyes burning into him. He knew he should have told her. He just still couldn’t find a way to explain it without sounding like a lunatic. Even when he explained it to Rhys and Az in Day, he knew he sounded crazy. 

“We’re all family,” Rhys went on, “so there’s nothing to feel ashamed about. Yet, if you’d be more comfortable telling me privately, we can do this one at a time. Though I want Amren here for all of it because if anyone might have an inkling of what we’re dealing with, it’s you,” he finished, tilting his chin at his second. 

Briar cleared her throat and volunteered to go first. As she spoke, her experience sounded fairly spot on to Lucien’s. The voice appearing from nowhere, saying it knew what she feared, and then taunting her with eventualities of that fear coming to pass. 

Azriel joined in her narrative, filling in for the time he had also heard the voice, sometimes at the same time as Briar. As if it were speaking to both of them at the same time but still separately, somehow. As they spoke, Lucien tentatively reached out through the bond. 

**_You’ve heard it too?_ **

Silence, and then… a shudder. Involuntary, as if she hadn’t been able to repress it as she thought about the voice. 

_ I didn’t realize anyone else could hear it besides me.  _

**_It seems it’s visiting us all in turn._ **

Lucien wanted to ask her what fears it tormented her with, but he was almost positive he knew the answer. The room fell silent and Lucien realized they were all looking in his direction, waiting for him to share what he knew. 

Shifting in the chair, he cleared his throat and said, “I’ve heard it twice. The first was several weeks ago when I took Suri riding. I stopped to let her play by the stream at the edge of the woods and it spoke to me then. The second time was in my study while I was responding to letters for Rhys.”

“What did it say?” Feyre asked. 

“That it knew what I feared,” Lucien forced himself to say. Even thinking of the foul voice made his skin crawl. “It left when I threatened to light it on fire.”

Rhys snorted, causing Azriel and Feyre to chuckle, providing a welcome interruption to the tension that had settled around the room. But once the brief laughter dissipated, all eyes shifted to Elain. 

Lucien would have given anything to take away the discomfort and obvious distress his mate felt at that moment. Her eyes had grown round and glassy and her shoulders turned inward, making her seem smaller than she had moments before. Her hands trembled slightly. Lucien wanted to reach for them but feared she would jerk away from him and that sort of rejection in front of so many of their friends would crush him. 

“Elain?” Feyre coaxed gently. “When did you first hear it?”

She didn’t answer. Lucien remained still, but sent a light embrace down their bond. 

**_Would you rather tell Feyre privately?_ **

On the surface, Elain continued to stare into her lap. But through their bond, Lucien felt her shudder as she choked back a sob. 

_ They’ll all find out eventually.  _

**_I know… but it would prevent you from having to tell—_ **

_ You?  _

Lucien had been punching in the gut before. So hard that it knocked the breath out of him. Though he couldn’t ever recall it striking as hard as it did just then. 

**_You don’t have to if you don’t want to._ **

_ I  _ do  _ want to. I just don’t want to keep disappointing you.  _

Through their bond, her voice trembled and shook from holding back her sobs and on the outside, a tear finally tipped over her closed eyelid and slid down her cheek. Lucien extended an arm and brought her into the crook of his shoulder, the spot where she seemed to fit perfectly. He glanced at Feyre over Elain’s head and said, “Give us a minute?”

Feyre nodded as Lucien slid his hand down her back and nudged her out of the chair. She rose and he led her outside. To the first garden she ever created in Velaris. Since they were still neighbors with Rhys, Elain maintained both gardens—this one and the one outside their own townhouse. Lucien led her to the little stone bench, the bench where Elain had first kissed him, and smoothed her hair away from her face. 

She sniffled and looked up at him, her eyes red and watery. “It’s not that I didn’t want to tell you,” she began, wiping her eyes with the heels of her hands. “I just didn’t want to weigh you down with more despair and sorrow. The visions are already too much to bear and—”

“Stop,” he said, gently but firmly. He cupped her cheek with one hand and resisted the urge to sigh with relief when she leaned into his touch. “Stop,” he said again. “Have I ever balked from anything you’ve shared with me? Confided in me?”

She shook her head weakly. “But that’s my point. I’m terrified of crossing that threshold. Of becoming too much for you to tolerate and decide you don’t want to—”

“You are my  _ mate,” _ Lucien avowed, his voice breaking. “I will never…  _ never _ turn away from you. Elain, dove, I don’t tolerate you. I  _ love  _ you. I would gladly weather all the heartache and despair with you rather than walk this earth alone and unburdened.”

Elain buried her face into his tunic and sobbed as the morning sun beat down upon them. Passersby glanced at them, but Elain’s face was hidden so thoroughly, it would seem like nothing more than a couple sharing a private moment on the terrace. Still, the sound of her weeping ought to elicit some kind of gawking… unless—

Lucien glanced at the patio door, into the townhouse sitting room, and caught Feyre’s gaze. A tiny nod from her confirmed what Lucien suspected. She had erected one of her bubbles of air around them so their conversation was kept private, both from anyone on the street and those inside the townhouse. He tilted his head in a gesture of thanks. 

Lucien stroked Elain’s hair until she took a shuddering breath and drew back, peering up at him. 

“Would you rather tell me about it?” Lucien asked. “I can tell the rest of them so you can go home and relax.”

“No,” Elain sniffled, wiping her nose against the sleeve of his tunic. 

“Cute,” he smirked, earning a meek watery smile from his mate. 

“I only want to tell it once,” she continued, “and they might as well hear it from me. In case they have questions.”

Lucien nodded. His heart still stung that she hadn’t wanted to confide in him… though, he had to remind himself, he hadn’t wanted to tell her either. She rose from the bench and strode purposefully toward the patio door. “Come on,” she said. “Before I lose my nerve again.”

Back inside, Lucien resumed his spot on the armchair. Elain sat beside him, though she perched on the edge of the seat instead of settling against the backrest. 

“The first time I heard it,” Elain began, “was a week or two before the first vision I had of…” 

Even though she sat on the edge of the chair, Lucien felt her stiffen. He realized too late that telling their friends about the voice would possibly require her to also reveal the visions she’d been having. He subtly slid his arm behind her back and gently gripped her waist. 

“Of being infertile,” Elain confessed. 

Lucien’s eyes immediately scanned the room for everyone’s reactions, as if daring anyone to challenge or pity his mate. From the mingled expressions of horror and sympathy, Lucien gauged that aside from himself, only Briar and Azriel had known. That didn’t surprise him, since he had told Azriel himself and he suspected if Elain confided in anyone, it would have been Briar. And possibly Aridea, but she wasn’t there at present. 

Feyre appeared the most horrified, gasping softly and murmuring, “Oh, Elain, I had no idea.”

Rhys caught Lucien’s eye and Lucien understood his message plainly. 

_ When all this business with Helion and your mother is settled, we’re getting rip-roaring drunk.  _

Amren, direct as ever, said, “So, you heard the voice first? Before the visions began?”

“Yes.”

“And how long have you been having these visions?”

“At first, they were sporadic,” Elain replied, reaching for the tail of her braid. “The first one was…” she trailed off, trying to remember. 

“Ten months ago,” Lucien answered for her. 

_ “Ten months?”  _ Feyre echoed, her shock evident in both her voice and her eyes. 

Lucien caught his friend’s gaze and narrowed his own eyes at her as if to say,  _ not helping.  _

Feyre’s cheeks reddened slightly but she didn’t comment further. 

“I didn’t have another one for months after that,” Elain continued. “But the voice stayed. Once every week or two, it would taunt me. Telling me it knew what I feared. The second vision didn't come until about six months after the first. The third, a month later. And now…”

She stared at a snagged thread in the area rug beneath the furniture. 

“She has them pretty frequently now,” Lucien offered. 

“And the voice is almost always there,” Elain lamented. “At least every few days.”

“What exactly is it saying?” Amren asked. 

“‘I know what you fear,’” Elain recited. “It always starts with that.”

Lucien nodded absentmindedly, remembering the two times the voice had appeared to him. Both times, it manifested out of nothing and uttered that same phrase. From the indistinct nods Azriel and Briar were giving, Lucien suspected they were thinking more or less the same. 

Rhys leaned back in his chair, his brows creased. He turned to his second. “Do you have any light to shed on this? Because we are utterly and completely in the dark.”

Amren didn’t answer immediately. She too was staring down at the rug, as if deep in thought or memory. Lucien wondered how she managed to keep track of everything she had seen and learned in her millennia of life in both Prythian and whatever world she came from before it. He wondered how one mind could catalog that much information. For as much as she remembered, there had to be exponentially more that she’d forgotten. 

She was silent for several long moments, her silver eyes fixed but unfocused on the same snag in the rug. No one moved, or even dared to breathe too loudly, lest it disturb her. “I know what you want,” Amren whispered, her voice low and sultry and as if coming out of a trance, she blinked several times. For a fae who hardly blinked at all, that was probably the most disconcerting thing Lucien had seen her do. As she leaned back, she crossed her legs and brought one sharply pointed nail to her chin. 

"I know what you want," she said again and Lucien’s blood chilled as her usually sharp cold voice trembled. Lucien had never known Amren to tremble and one quick glance at Rhys confirmed that he was just as unsettled by it as Lucien was. 

“Amren?” Rhys asked tentatively. 

The Tiny Ancient One shook her head gently, as if to expel some lingering unpleasantness. When she looked up at them, her silver eyes had returned to their normal cool indifference. 

“I have never heard of this  _ particular  _ being,” Amren explained. “But once, long, long ago, I heard of one very similar. From what you all have described, this voice, this… Whisperer has no corporeal form. And it sounds as if it’s speaking from inside your own head.”

Nods from Azriel, Briar, and Lucien prompted her to continue. 

“As you all are aware, there are dozens, maybe hundreds, of other worlds that parallel this one.”

More nods. 

“One of those worlds is called Luster. Its creation is a long story, and one that is not relevant to our purpose. But what I will tell you is that Luster became a sanctuary. A refuge whereby the unicorns escaped when their kind was being hunted into extinction by mortals.”

“Unicorns?” Elain whispered with wide, disbelieving eyes. “Those are real?”

“Not in this world, girl,” Amren answered. “But in another, they are very real. And vain.”

Rhys snorted again. “Look who’s talking.”

Amren shot him an icy glare. “Call me what you wish, but my vanity is  _ nothing  _ compared to that of the unicorns.”

“So, what does this have to do with the voice we’re hearing?” Azriel demanded. 

“This other voice was created from a ceremony that should have never occurred. A ceremony in which the unicorns purged themselves of anything less than perfection. They wished to rid themselves of any potential flaws but in doing so, they unknowingly made themselves more flawed than they could have possibly imagined.”

As Amren spoke, Lucien could feel himself being drawn into her narrative, as if he was watching this scene in some other world’s history instead of merely being told about it. 

“They were now incomplete and lacked the ferocity and wit they once possessed. And the evil that was purged from within them was released into the world, a being that lacked form or body, comprised of all the traits the unicorns wanted to disassociate themselves from. Fear, hate, lust, greed, jealousy. All these attributes that, when left without their counterparts, tip the scale of natural balance.”

Amren picked up two of Tarquin’s blood rubies from the coffee table. “No world can exist out of balance,” she said, holding a ruby in each hand. “Fear is necessary for courage to triumph. Hate exists to show the true power of love. When one exists without the other,” she dipped one hand and raised the other, “the scale tips and the world must compensate for that imbalance.”

She placed the rubies back on the table. “Once this ceremony had been completed, all those negative qualities drifted aimlessly in the world until they formed together to create the Whisperer.”

Elain’s brows furrowed with confusion. “But if the Whisperer is from another world—”

“Not our Whisperer,” Amren clarified. “Theirs. Their Whisperer was a being that taunted others into doing mischievous and foul deeds by offering them their greatest desires. It counted on the weak-willed to be tempted into following its commands by weaseling its way into their hearts and learning what they desired most desperately.”

“But the one that’s been talking to us hasn’t said anything about what we desire,” Briar interjected. “It tells us it knows what we—”

“Fear,” Amren cut her off. “That is why I do not believe it is the same being, but one of similar creation. Besides, if my memory serves, that Whisperer was destroyed by the being that created the unicorns.”

“So,” Elain puzzled, “you’re saying… What are you saying?”

“I’m not saying anything definitive,” Amren declared. “I’m merely providing information that might be relevant. Their Whisperer was created by an imbalance after an ancient and foolish ceremony. What we must discover now is what could have happened here, in Prythian, to create such a being.”

“And how to defeat it,” Rhys added. “You said the other Whisperer was destroyed by that world’s creator?” 

“Not the world,” Amren corrected. “The unicorns. The Whisperer was born of the unicorns, not Luster. It was destroyed by the celestial being who created the unicorns.”

“So, by that reasoning,” Azriel said, “if our Whisperer was created by something off balance in Prythian…”

“Then only Prythian’s creator can destroy it,” Rhys finished, his expression grim. 

Lucien let out a low whistle. “How in the Cauldron’s soggy depths are we supposed to do that?!”

Amren and Rhys shared a sharp glance. Lucien whipped his head back and forth between them. “No…” he muttered. “You’re not possibly thinking—”

“The Cauldron!” Rhys practically shouted.

“Rhys,” Feyre interjected. “Absolutely not. That thing almost killed Amren. It  _ did  _ kill you. It’s too volatile.”

“I agree with Feyre,” Lucien supplied. 

“It may be our only lead,” Amren pointed out, though she didn’t look happy about that conclusion. “We have no idea where to even begin searching otherwise.”

“We haven’t got time for this,” Azriel reminded them. “We have to be in Autumn in less than two days.”

A wave of shame washed over Lucien. In the excitement of this revelation, he’d momentarily forgotten about his mother’s escape from Autumn in the coming days. 

“Look,” Lucien reasoned, “if all goes well, my mother will be safe with Helion in a matter of days and that will be the end of it. And then we’ll have time to devote our attention to this Whisperer.”

“I agree that we need to keep our primary focus on the current task at hand,” Rhys said. “But be mindful. All of you. I suspect it won’t take long for this creature to discover we’re more aware of it and for it to react aggressively. Stay on your guard and if you hear it, do not engage with it. Is that understood?”

A collective sound of agreement moved through the room. 

“Amren,” Rhys continued. His second directed her full attention to him. “I want you to brief Cassian and Mor. They need to be aware of this thing and what it can do. After this business with Lucien’s mother is concluded, we will devise a plan and get to the bottom of this Whisperer business.”

“We need to act quickly,” Amren agreed. “For I highly doubt this menacing voice has only chosen our Inner Circle to attack. If four of our numbers have heard it…”

“Then there’s a good chance others throughout Prythian have heard it too,” Elain said darkly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so brief sidenote: When I began writing this story, I hadn't really ironed out the "villain." Then I got the idea for the Whisperer, but I knew I'd read it before. I just couldn't remember where. As I was plotting this chapter, the memory of where I'd seen it before came to me. It's from a middle-grade series that I loved as a kid called The Unicorn Chronicles. So, to be fair to the author of that series, I don't want to take credit for an idea that was not wholly my own. That's why you may notice that this story is now a crossover in the fandoms. Just wanted to put that out there so it didn't seem like I was plagiarising.


	17. Chapter 17

Lucien huffed his frustration as he adjusted the pack on his shoulder. He badly wanted to speak with Elain about the voice he now knew they both were hearing, but instead, he was with Azriel on the way to the Autumn Court border. 

Some may have called them overly cautious for traveling most of the way on foot, winnowing when it was convenient or to get across difficult natural obstacles. And perhaps they were, but Lucien wasn’t risking anything to chance. Beron was more powerful and clever than many people knew… and Lucien had seen firsthand what the result of Beron’s wrath could do. Traveling on foot was less likely to attract Beron’s attention. When they reached the border that Autumn shared with Summer, Lucien would winnow to Day and await Azriel’s arrival. They had considered taking the shorter, more direct route due south through Winter, but after the encounter Lucien and Feyre had with his brothers on the frozen lake in Winter, they chose to avoid that path. Az, meanwhile, would fly the rest of the way through Autumn until he reached the palace. 

“By this time tomorrow,” Azriel said, ducking to avoid a low hanging tree branch, “it’ll all be over.”

“And then we get to jump right into figuring out this Whisperer mess,” Lucien countered. 

Azriel shrugged. “We’ve always come out on top before, so I have no doubt we will figure something out.”

“I wish I shared your optimism.”

“One catastrophe at a time, my friend.”

They walked in silence for another hour until finally—

“Home sweet hell,” Lucien remarked as he peered at the far dense forest across the wide-open plain before them. One thing that always fascinated Lucien about the seasonal courts was the drastic change in the landscape where the borders met. 

Spring’s border was fields of wildflowers as far as the eye could see, which stopped abruptly at the end of the court’s territory. Summer was easily identifiable by its lush green grass and humidity. Probably the most drastic change, though, was Winter. Perpetually covered in snow, the land was dry and barren. For anyone who had never seen it, the border between Summer and Winter was definitely a shock. 

Now, where he and Azriel stood, the green field of summer gave way suddenly to drier, browner grass. Beyond, the foliage of the forest was rich with the reds and browns of autumn leaves, though in the early evening darkness, it was difficult to make out the brilliance of the colors. 

Azriel turned to face Lucien. “Well, here we go.”

“Do you need the map of the estate?” Lucien asked, his hands thrust into his pockets to keep himself from fidgeting. “Just in case?”

“No,” Az replied, tapping his head. “I memorized it.”

“Of course you did,” Lucien chuckled, though he was secretly impressed. The Autumn Court estate was massive. Even he hadn’t remembered its complete layout—Eris had provided the map. 

Lucien shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I’d better go,” he said. “Just in case Beron’s sentries decide to stray further than they’re supposed to.”

“I’ll see you in Day in a few hours.”

Lucien nodded as they both winnowed, Lucien to the border of Day and Azriel to the center of the Autumn court forest. 

  
***************************

Lucien wasn’t sure whose nerves were wound tighter—his or Helion’s. 

Helion was pacing, slowly, but still pacing. He strode from end to end of the terrace balcony railing while Lucien sat at the same stone table where he shared a bottle of whiskey with Helion mere days ago. It was so strange how, after only two visits, this place felt so comfortable to him. 

_ Like a home? _

Lucien went as stiff as steel. He kept his features neutral, hoping not to alarm Helion, even as his mind screamed back at the voice. 

_ Go. Away.  _

_ I know what you fear… _

Lucien balled his fists, trying to keep his rage in check so flames didn’t erupt from his fingertips. 

_ And what you fear will come to pass… _

_ Go. The fuck. Away.  _

_ Don’t you want me to meet your mother? _

Lucien growled as softly as he dared, though Helion was so preoccupied with watching the skies, he didn’t notice. 

_ Tsk tsk, Lucien. This anger is  _ nothing  _ compared to what will come sooner than you think.  _

Icy cold dread replaced the burning in Lucien’s veins. Whatever the Whisperer meant, it could be nothing good. 

_ You’ve set the ball in motion. Now you must face the consequences.  _

“Look!” Helion called. 

The voice laughed cruelly and disappeared. Lucien hurtled out of his chair, joining Helion at the railing. A winged figure passed in front of the moon, still tinged with yellow and sitting low in the sky. Night had only just fallen, even though it felt to Lucien like he’d been waiting here for days. 

Azriel banked on a current of wind and Lucien sighed with relief at the sight of his mother in the Shadowsinger’s arms. He and Helion took several steps back, leaving a space wide enough for Azriel to land. 

Az swooped down, landing gracefully and tucking his wings in close behind him. The moment he lowered Anlyn, she dashed across the wide stone balcony directly toward— 

“Lucien!” She cried as she flung her arms around him. 

Lucien embraced his mother tightly, holding on to her as she breathed him in. Though Lucien was much taller than Anlyn, she still managed to embrace him the way a parent does a small child. She stroked her hand through his flame-red hair, the same precise shade as her own. She trembled slightly as she clung to him, and for all the times she sang him to sleep when he was a babe, for all the times she had been there during his childhood to comfort and soothe him, Lucien murmured against her hair, “You’re free, mother. You’re safe. We both are. You never have to see him again.”

Anlyn choked back a muffled sob. When she drew back, her eyes were rimmed with tears. 

“Oh, my son,” she said, her voice breaking. “You’re here. You’re here and we’re both finally free of him. Forever.”

She gripped his hands tightly in hers and looked up at him. Something in her eyes shifted from unrestrained delight to slight confusion and alarm. “You’re here,” she said again, though her voice no longer quavered. “In Day.” She glanced over Lucien’s shoulder, past him, to where Helion leaned against the railing.

“He knows,” Lucien said quietly. 

Anlyn’s eyes went wide as she chuckled nervously. “What?”

“He knows, mother,” Lucien said gently. 

Anlyn took a step back from him, smoothing her skirts as she anxiously glanced up at her mate. “This is not how I would have had you find out. I’m sorry.”

Helion glanced at Lucien, and perhaps he imagined it, but Lucien could have sworn he saw a silent request in those sun-bright eyes. As if Helion was asking permission to approach her instead of just stepping in uninvited.  The thought positively perplexed Lucien, who’d spent most of his life in households where the High Lord’s word was law. Where they did not ask permission for anything. Everyone else was expected to gain their favor, not the other way around. 

Lucien gave an imperceptible nod that Helion returned, taking two slow steps toward them.

“The how does not matter, my—Anlyn,” Helion said, no doubt refraining from using some long-ago term of endearment. A swell of pity passed over Lucien for the sake of his parents—his real parents—for their having to live and love in secret for so long. And then to be parted from one another for centuries… Lucien had no idea how either of them survived it.

And then came the moment Lucien had been expecting… and not looking forward to witnessing. The moment Helion and Anlyn’s eyes met. They shared a long, silent stare, full from two hundred years of emotions they’d both been forced to keep locked away. Lucien glanced around for Az, who’d been utterly silent since landing on the balcony. 

The Shadowsinger was, predictably, tucked away in an alcove of the terrace, partially obscured by shadows. He gave Lucien a bemused smile, who returned his expression with a discreet vulgar gesture.

“I have so much to tell you,” Helion murmured to Anlyn. 

“Well, we finally have the time,” she replied softly. Lucien had never, in all his life, heard his mother speak with such… contentment. 

“Later,” Helion said, causing Lucien to snap his head back around at the two of them. His parents. 

He wondered when that thought would stop feeling so strange. 

Anlyn’s perplexion mirrored Lucien’s as her brows knit together and her mouth straightened into a thin line.

“You’re here,” Helion breathed. “We will have plenty of time to talk. Take the time to get settled.” He gestured to Lucien. “He’ll have to return to Night soon, so spend tonight, and tomorrow if you like, with your—our son.”

Even in the darkness illuminated only by moonlight, Lucien caught his mother’s blush as she dipped her head. “Thank you,” she whispered. 

Helion took her hand in his own, brought it to his mouth, and kissed the back of it softly. “Words cannot express how happy I am that you’re here.”

“You’ve never needed words, Sunshine,” Anlyn chirped, the corner of her mouth pulling upward as she gestured with her free hand. “See?”

Indeed, the moonlight illuminating the terrace now seemed dimmer as Helion’s ebony skin glowed softly. Seeing his father literally glowing with happiness settled something in Lucien. That was not some reaction that could be falsified or called upon command. Lucien knew firsthand that reaction was something that came from deep within, beyond the reach of voluntary will. 

Helion just shook his head with a low chuckle. “I’ve given you the suite at the southwestern corner,” he said to Anlyn. “Unless your affinity for watching sunsets has changed?”

“Not hardly,” she replied with a grin. 

Lucien turned back to Azriel, who emerged slightly from the shadows. “I take it you’re staying the night?” Az asked, to which Lucien nodded. 

“I’ll tell her,” the Shadowsinger added, catching Lucien’s unspoken request. 

“Thank you,” Lucien replied. 

“Have fun with mom and dad,” Azriel snickered as he stepped backward into the swirling darkness. 

“Bastard,” Lucien muttered with a low grumble. 

“Back at you,” the shadows chuckled. 

Lucien stuck a hand out and waved it in the shadowy alcove Azriel had just been standing in. Completely empty. When he turned around, his mother stood waiting, a hand on her hip just like she used to do when he was a child. 

“I’m coming,” he mumbled,  _ feeling _ once more like a child. 

She linked her arm through his and walked alongside him, matching his pace. Helion followed half a step behind until they arrived in the west wing of the palace. When they reached the double doors to what was now Anlyn’s suite, Helion bowed slightly at the waist. “My home is now yours. Anything you need—”

Anlyn tsk’ed. “Stop being so formal,” she teased with a chuckle. “I know it will take some getting used to… for all of us. But this is not a show for the sake of the other courts.”

Helion straightened with a nod. “I assumed you wouldn’t be able to bring much,” he said, and for the first time since her arrival, Lucien noticed the absence of any luggage. All she carried was a decently-sized bag with a strap that went across her chest and shoulder. “Your rooms are as fully stocked as possible, but whenever you like, go into town and buy whatever you like.”

“My, my,” Anlyn said, fanning herself with her hand, “how spoiled am I?”

“Oh, hush,” Helion barked, though his eyes glittered. “Until tomorrow?”

“Am I too bold in assuming you remember how I take my tea?” She asked.

“Two sugars and a splash of lemon juice,” Helion replied without pause. 

Anlyn’s eyebrows rose. “Well, I am impressed. Goodnight,” she bade him as she seemed to glide gracefully into her suite. 

Lucien glanced back at Helion, whose shoulders finally slumped as relief passed over his face.

“It’s done,” Lucien said, his own relief giving way to the exhaustion he’d been keeping at bay until this venture was accomplished. “She’s here.”

“And so begins a new chapter,” Helion replied. “For all of us.”

Lucien nodded as he bid goodnight to Helion and followed his mother into her suite.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for this chapter: heavy discussion of miscarriage and still birth.

“I have something for you.”

“I hope it’s not another waistcoat like the one you made when I was nine,” Lucien smirked, leaning back in the plush tangerine armchair of Anlyn’s new sitting room, crossing his ankles as he stretched his legs. They had talked long into the night, enjoying the opportunity to converse casually without any sort of time constraint. Lucien’s intention had been to get some sleep, share breakfast with his mother, and return home to Night. But it had just been impossible to fit over two hundred years of missed conversation into one night. As a result, they were still awake, still talking comfortably, when the sun rose. 

The mid-morning breeze was cool enough that they had propped open the lattice doors which led out onto another balcony and, rather than sit at the stone table and chairs adorning the terrace, they had dragged the armchairs from the sitting room outside. Helion, it seemed, was fond of balconies. The cool autumn breeze air whipped Lucien’s loose hair around his shoulders. He shook his head, partially to get his hair out of his eyes but more at the irony that when his mother finally decided to leave eternal Autumn, it was still autumn in the rest of the courts too.

“You’re many great things, mother, but a seamstress is not one of them.”

Anlyn swatted his arm as she rolled her eyes. “Say what you will, but you looked so handsome.”

“It was two sizes too small! It might as well have been a corset!”

The Lady of Autumn snorted. “As if you’d know the struggle of wearing a corset.”

Lucien shook his head incredulously, though a tiny smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. Even though the sun had not fully risen enough to dispatch the shadows lingering on the western side of the palace, the autumn morning sun shined brilliantly. He knew the solar courts didn’t remain in a perpetual state of weather like the seasonal courts, but Lucien still got the feeling that the sun shone brighter here in the Day Court than anywhere else. 

The Day Court. His father’s court. His _real_ father. The idea still made Lucien’s head spin in circles. He needed to get the full story from his mother at some point, if she was willing to tell it. 

His mother was beautiful anywhere, but here in Day, she was radiant. The sunlight made her crimson hair shine so brilliantly it was hard to look at her directly. And he couldn’t remember a time when he’d seen her smile as widely or as unconstrained as she did now. In Autumn, she had been solemn and tempered to the point of submissive. Though there had been rare moments of happiness—usually when she and Lucien had managed to spend time together away from Beron. That was the only way he’d ever known her, and it broke Lucien’s heart to know that there had once been a time when she’d been nothing but vibrant and full of life. Beron had all but stamped it out of her. Lucien prayed that she could find that part of herself again now that she was free of him. 

“Anyway,” Anlyn continued, reaching into one of the pockets of her skirts, “it isn’t actually for you. It’s for you to give to my daughter-in-law.”

Elain. 

Lucien’s heart still did somersaults whenever he thought about his mate. He’d expected the sensation to dull as time wore on, but so far, he still felt the same as he had the first time she kissed him. His mother had said it best—his mate was a treasure. One he was grateful for every single day. When he was away from her, he missed her. Though he was grateful for the time he got to spend with his mother, he regretted that Elain couldn’t be there with them. Perhaps when they handled this Whisperer business, she could come visit. He could only imagine how the warming radiance of the Day Court would delight her.

Lucien’s smile vanished, replaced by a small frown as he sighed ruefully. It physically pained him to see his mate so disheartened. He’d lost count of the number of times he explained that whether or not they had children, he was overjoyed simply to spend his life with her. And he knew she felt the same, but he also knew there was still that part of her that longed for a baby. He thought back to when they had just moved into the townhouse Rhys had bought them. Just before Solstice. When Elain had first expressed her desire to start a family with him. Lucien had never thought he’d be happier than Elain accepting the mating bond. Yet that day she said she wanted to bear his children he had been so elated, he’d actually glowed with light. Which he later learned was an unexpected side effect of Day’s power. 

But then she began having the visions… and he hadn’t glowed since. His heart had broken for her. It had broken for himself too, but Elain had been absolutely devastated. Try as he might to convince her that they were just phantoms haunting her, he couldn’t convince himself of it, and his lack of conviction showed. All Elain’s previous visions had come to pass, so it felt like only a matter of time before these did too. She hadn’t wanted to share what she’d seen with anyone—not even Lucien at first—but he had coaxed it out of her. After she had explained, Lucien understood why she had been so loath to share with anyone else. How could they explain that they were mourning something that hadn’t even happened yet, but was sure to come eventually? Not only did she mourn the potential loss of what would have been their first child, but the thought that she could be physically incapable of bearing children had devastated her. That devastation had crushed him to his very soul. Though now, he wondered if that fear had been coaxed out of her deepest subconscious by the Whisperer and exploited until it consumed her every waking hour. 

He had been adamant that whether or not they had children, he would love her unconditionally. He would never think less of her if they weren’t able to have children and he never held her to any expectation to provide him with an heir. He was no High Lord that needed to continue his blood line and even if he had been, he would never hold Elain to that kind of expectation. It was archaic and crass. In truth, he had confessed to her, he hadn’t honestly ever expected to have children of his own. Finding his mate and having her accept the bond had been more than he’d ever dreamed of. Having children was a dream so far beyond him that he’d never even considered it. Still, she had cried for weeks after the first vision. 

“The first one is always the hardest,” Anlyn murmured. 

Lucien snapped his head around to peer at her. He’d been completely lost in his musings and had forgotten entirely where he was… or that his mother was still there. 

“What did you say?”

“I’ll never understand why,” she continued. “But for whatever reason, the first child is _always_ the hardest to bring to term.”

Lucien shifted uncomfortably. He would have preferred his mother have this conversation with Elain, but she wasn’t here. Still, he had to marvel at his mother’s intuition. She seemed to always know what was on his mind without him saying a word. For a moment, he half wondered if she was a daemati. Another wave of discomfort passed over him as he struggled to decide whether to tell his mother the truth. He didn’t want to betray the confidence between himself and his mate, but perhaps if anyone would understand, it would be his mother. Hoping she would forgive him later, he looked his mother directly in her eyes. 

“She hasn’t actually lost one… yet.”

His mother drew her brows together as her eyes narrowed in confusion. “Yet?”

“Elain is a Seer,” Lucien explained. “A _gift_ from the Cauldron when she was Made. And she’s had… visions. All her other visions have eventually come to pass, so she’s convinced that these will too.”

“Ahhh,” Anlyn said, leaning back in her chair. “Bless her poor soul. So she’s terrified that if she does get pregnant, she’ll lose it?”

“How did you even know?”

Anlyn sighed. “Because Beron, curse him, used to look exactly like you do now when we began trying.”

Lucien grimaced. He held no pleasure from having anything in common with the High Lord of Autumn. 

“It’s a trademark look all males seem to get when their mate or wife is going through this,” Anlyn continued gently. “Well, not _this_ specifically since Elain’s case is rather unique. But bearing children is always a difficult thing for a female.”

Lucien’s next question burned his tongue but he refrained from speaking it. He’d learned that this was an extremely sensitive subject and most females were not overly willing to volunteer information. 

“Ask whatever it is you want to ask me, son.”

Lucien shook his head, watching a leaf swirl in the breeze before being carried off over the edge of the balcony. 

“Ask,” she said more firmly. 

“How many—” 

“Five.”

Lucien sucked air in through his clenched teeth. _“Five?”_

“Beron was _insistent_ that I produce an heir. Every single one we lost was seen as a failure in his eyes. Four of those were lost early on, but one… she would have been your sister, but she never took a breath.”

Lucien growled, an involuntary sound he didn't even realize he'd made until his mother continued. 

"Not by Beron's doing," she went on to clarify. "She was still from the moment she was born." Her eyes were distant, unfocused. As if she was recalling facts from a long-forgotten story and not her own experiences. “After we finally had Eris, the rest of your brothers and you followed without any issues.”

Yellow-orange flames flickered over Lucien’s fingertips as his fury with Beron grew. Lucien wondered if the High Lord of Autumn had ever even loved his mother, or if he had only seen her as a desirable female to breed with. He knew his mother came from a prominent Autumn Court family, so Beron choosing her for his wife probably had little to do with love and more to do with making a good political alliance through marriage and offspring. An unpleasant memory sprang to the forefront of Lucien’s mind. Of being chained to a tree with his magic doused as Ianthe dragged her fingernails down his chest, crooning about how they would produce such powerful offspring. He balled his hands into fists to douse the flames, but his mother had seen them. 

“It is ancient history, now, my son. As a female is more… successful at bringing a child to term, it becomes more and more effortless with each subsequent child. By the time you came along… Well, it’s no wonder Helion got me pregnant so easily.”

“MOTHER.” Lucien had to draw the line somewhere and the direction of their conversation was drawing awfully close. 

His mother laughed, any lingering traces of long ago sorrow extinguished. “Oh, don’t be such a prude, Lucien.” Anlyn swatted his arm. “After the healer came during my last pregnancy, I wasn’t sure if Beron would let me keep you. He already had six sons, so his desire for heirs had been satisfied. And he had grown suspicious, since… well, nevermind,” she mercifully didn’t finish her sentence as she caught Lucien’s eyes widening in horror. “Don’t misunderstand me. Your brothers are my sons and I love them as any mother loves her children, but… they have grown savage. Bloodthirsty and brutal. After Eris, I thought your f—”

Lucien’s neck jerked. 

“Beron,” Anlyn corrected herself quickly. “I thought Beron would be satisfied. But he insisted on having,” she lowered her voice in an impressive imitation of Beron’s, “‘as many sons as she’ll bear.’” She shook her head in disgust. “In case something happened to Eris, he insisted on having what my nursemaid liked to call ‘contingency sons.’ With Helion, though, we simply wanted to be together. His intention was never to produce offspring—”

Suddenly, her cheeks grew scarlet. Lucien cleared his throat and cast his eyes toward the bright blue sky. He understood what she’d unintentionally implied. That Helion’s affair with his mother had been strictly that—an affair. Lucien had been a complete and utter surprise. 

“So, what you’re telling me is that I was an accident?” He smirked at her, knowing her well enough that she would not take offense to the jibe. 

“Accident is such a nasty sounding word,” she objected, smoothing her skirts.

“Well, then what would you call it?” He chortled. 

“A surprise!” His mother exclaimed, the twinkle returning to her eyes. “But the most welcomed surprise a mother could ever ask for.”

She squeezed his arm gently. “After Taelith…” Her voice faltered and bile rose in Lucien’s throat. 

Lucien was the youngest of Anlyn’s sons, but Taelith had been the last son born to Beron. He’d been the one that Tamlin killed after they pursued Lucien into the Spring Court. Corven, the fifth son, had been slain by Lucien himself. Part of him felt guilty, but only for his mother’s sake. The other part of him still felt no remorse, considering all but one of his brothers had each had a hand in Jesminda’s death and then, Eris, Corven and Taelith had hunted Lucien like an animal until he fled the borders of his home. Even so, they’d been his brothers. And Taelith was closest in age to him so much of their youth had been spent together.

“I don’t blame you, Lucien.” His mother’s voice was soft. Gentle. 

“You should.”

His mother pursed her lips, bringing her fingertips together and resting her chin atop them. “As I said, your brothers have become bloodthirsty and ruthless. They care for no one or nothing, though Eris has recently given me hope that he will be a better High Lord than his father. I feared that with you being the youngest, they would take you under their influence and teach you to be just as nasty and hateful as they were. But you couldn’t have become more different from them, and I couldn’t have been more relieved.”

“‘A mother isn’t supposed to have favorites,’” Lucien said, recalling her words from her visit to Velaris. A visit that his beloved mate orchestrated. 

“But you are mine,” Anlyn said. “I’m not ashamed to admit it. Beron knows it. Which is partially why he’s always made life so difficult for you.”

Lucien snorted. “I’m honestly surprised he didn’t force the healer to get rid of me once he found out about the affair.”

Anlyn’s eyes turned hollow and dark. She stared at the floor as she whispered, “He tried.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me.” 

“If I hadn’t been so far along, he would have insisted on it. But I begged him. I never raised a word of opposition to anything he did. Anything he ordered me to do. But I begged him for you. I had given him what he wanted—six sons to raise as he saw fit to inherit Autumn and continue his lineage. I beseeched that I was more than entitled to one child he couldn’t corrupt. But as it was, he still probably would have insisted upon it. The only thing that prevented him from following through was that the procedure would have done irreparable harm to me. So, begrudgingly, he allowed it.”

Lucien thought of the way his mother had always doted on him. So much more than his brothers. He had always assumed it had been because he was the youngest. She would sneak away from her lady’s maids and find him when he was skipping lessons, often joining him on the roof or on a walk through the forest. He recalled the way the late afternoon sun would catch on a circlet of golden leaves she used to wear around her head. 

He remembered how she fretted whenever he would spar with his brothers. Again, he’d assumed it was just worry over her youngest son being hurt by playing with the older boys, but as he reflected on those memories, his mother’s recent words made him see it in a new light. She was undoubtedly worried about him getting hurt, but more than that, she worried that their influence would take hold over him and he would grow to be as ruthless and coldhearted as the rest of them. 

He thought about what else she’d told him. If it was true—and he had no reason to doubt it was—then he had been a burden on his mother since before he was even born. Beron could have likely forgiven her for the affair and eventually forgotten it, or at least moved on from it… but not with a living, breathing piece of proof to remind him of it every single day. 

Again, as if she could read his mind, she put her soft hand against his arm again and said, “Don’t for one moment think I would have been better off without you.”

“But—”

“But nothing.” Her voice was still gentle, but firm, allowing no room for argument. “You were the blessing I had always prayed to the Mother for. A child born of love, not duty or obligation.”

“But you’ve suffered so much,” Lucien said sadly, a deep crease on his forehead. 

“And I would do it all over again,” she declared. “Your happiness, not my own, is what matters most to me, my dear son.”

She ruffled his hair the way she did when he was a boy, a tiny smirk catching at the edge of his mouth. 

“Now, the gift,” she said, reaching for a small box. “I know tradition calls for a mother to hand down her mating ring to her son, but I don’t have one to give.” Lucien’s eyes automatically went to her hand and he noticed with a vindictive pleasure that the ring she had worn as a symbol of her marriage to Beron was no longer there. 

“So…” She continued, “I had this made.”

Lucien eased the lid of the velvet box open. Inside was a pendant on a delicate silver chain. The pendant was the shape of a sun made of glittering yellow diamonds with a tiny dove taking flight at its center. It was dainty and elegant—perfect for Elain. But it was also radiant and bold like his mother. 

“It’s... lovely,” Lucien said earnestly, his throat bobbing. “Did you design it yourself?” 

Anlyn nodded, her eyes glittering with pride.

Lucien closed the lid on the box and tucked it into his pocket. “Thank you, mother. Elain will love this.”

“I would very much like to see her,” Anlyn said, her tone light and conversational even as her eyes told Lucien she understood if Elain was not up to traveling. 

“I’ll do my best,” he promised. 

“A little trip might do her some good.”

Lucien didn’t disagree, though convincing Elain would be the hard part. Still, his mother asked for so little. Just as Lucien was standing to stretch his legs, an attendant stepped out onto the terrace and told them lunch was ready. 

“I’d best be getting home anyway,” Lucien said. 

Anlyn also stood, smoothing her skirts as she rose. “I hope you’ll visit again soon.”

“Count on it.”

They were quiet for a moment until Lucien voiced a question he’d wanted to ask ever since his mother mentioned—

“What was her name?” Lucien asked. 

“Hmm?” 

“Her name,” he repeated hoarsely, his throat clenching. “My sister.”

“Oh,” Anlyn said with a sad smile. Her eyes watered as she said softly. “Rylla. Her name was Rylla. Beron forbade me from giving her a name… said it was a waste of time. But I did anyway. I wanted someone, even if it was only me, to remember her.”

Lucien rested his hand against his mother’s shoulder. “I’ll remember her.”

She whimpered as she pulled him into a tight embrace. When she drew back, she dabbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her dress.

“I’ll see you soon,” Lucien promised, before winnowing off the balcony and into the sunlight. 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short one today, loves! I'll get back to a more frequent posting after New Year's. I hope you all had a lovely holiday season!

_I know what you fear._

Briar let out a long low growl of frustration as she rolled over and kicked the covers off her. She ignored the whisperering menace inside her head, peering through the window fogged with condensation from the contrast of cold autumn air outside and the crackling fireplace inside. From the frost on the plants outside her window, winter was not far off. 

She retrieved a long fleece dressing gown from the bed’s footboard, slipping it on as she padded down the stairs. Azriel was already gone, it seemed. She smiled at the steaming mug of coffee waiting for her on a bistro table in the wide open kitchen.

_I know what you fear._

“So you’ve said,” she snipped.

_You fear growing old and dying while the one you love lives on. Eternal._

Briar clenched her teeth together, humming softly as she sipped her coffee. 

_He will forget you. He will find another to warm his bed._

She hummed louder, bustling about the kitchen putting clean dishes away. Making as much noise as possible. She knew the voice was inside her head, so it could be as loud as it wanted, but its abrupt silence seemed to indicate that it did not want to play games this morning. All the same, Briar was glad she had a job to go to. 

She had been hired on as a seamstress for Deidre’s shop. She was an expert with a needle and thread, her specialty being in intricate beadwork. Azriel, Rhys… all of them had told her she didn’t need to work. But sitting at home with nothing to do for days on end drove her mad. She had to do something and dressmaking was something she enjoyed. 

Deidre had been delighted to welcome her to her staff. 

“How many others do you have here?” Briar had asked when Elain first introduced her to the shopkeeper. 

“Well, if we could you, and me of course, then two!”

“You do all this,” Briar gestured to the dozens of stunning garments in the shop, “by yourself?”

The squat little faerie had simply smiled and shrugged. 

So, Briar had offered her help immediately, which Deidre graciously accepted. Deidre’s customers seemed pleased as well, since their orders were being fulfilled even quicker than usual. And with Solstice approaching, she’d had a larger quantity of garments to get made, giving Briar plenty to do. 

Once Briar was dressed and had her scarf wrapped snugly around her neck, she set off for the Rainbow. 

_I know what you_ —

“I don’t care,” Briar cut the Whisperer off, picking up the tune she was humming from earlier as she walked to Deidre’s shop.


	20. Chapter 20

When Lucien arrived back home, all he wanted to do was sleep. It was only midday, but he’d been up all night talking with his mother and the day before, he hadn’t slept well in anxious anticipation of his mother’s departure from Autumn. He dropped his pack at the door, content to just leave it there until morning. The sound of it thudding against the hardwood floor was enough to draw Elain’s attention. 

She was outside in her garden, but the patio door was open, the cool autumn breeze floating into the sitting room. In preparation for Solstice, Elain had an impressive array of poinsettias that were just about to bloom. She stood, brushing loose dirt off the apron she wore over her dress, and stepped inside. 

“You’re back,” she commented unnecessarily.

“Disappointed?” Lucien joked, though the laugh he gave was more hollow and nervous than he’d intended. 

“Of course not,” Elain smiled. “I just expected you to spend more time with your mother and—”

“Please don’t say ‘father,’” Lucien replied with a tiny wince. “I’m still getting used to the idea.”

“I was just going to say Helion,” she said with a soft giggle. 

Lucien’s eyes were so heavy though he worried if he closed them he would collapse. He swayed slightly and Elain moved to stand beside him, steadying him. 

“You look like you haven’t slept at all,” she observed. 

“I haven’t,” he admitted with an exhausted sheepish grin. 

Elain sighed dramatically, though he caught the little wink she gave him. “Come on, you party animal,” she ordered, sliding an arm around his waist and letting him drape his own arm over her shoulder. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He let her lead him upstairs to their bedroom and didn’t even pause to remove his boots before collapsing into their bed. Elain grimaced, though only a little, at the sight of his disheveled, travel-worn clothes atop the freshly cleaned sheets. 

“Don’t you want to take a bath first?” She suggested and he did not miss the hopeful upward tilt in her voice.

Lucien scrubbed at his face with his hands, trying not to sigh. “Do you want me to take a bath first?”

Elain suddenly grinned coyly at him. “There might be something in it for you if you do.”

Lucien’s eyebrows shot up, his exhaustion suddenly dissolved. He tried too late to hide his expression of pure surprise, silently noting the furious blush that crept into Elain’s cheeks. 

Ten years together and she still managed to find ways to surprise him. Though he knew better than to think she was coy and bashful about intimacy. She gave off an image of being quiet and reserved, but in the privacy of their own home, Elain was anything but. 

Lucien had learned early on that his mate was assertive and confident when it came to making love. She wasn’t timid or submissive like her outward behavior would suggest—in fact, she was quite the opposite. She was a female who knew exactly what she wanted and was not hesitant to be vocal about it. Lucien never minded in the least when she took control and told him precisely where and how she wanted him.

It had been months since they’d made love. Practically all intimacy had come to a grounding halt after the first vision ten months ago, and he couldn’t be cruel enough to fault her for not wanting to. Not after her visions had tormented her with what would happen if she were to conceive. So, she had done the one thing she could to ensure the visions never came to pass. Anytime they came even remotely close to intimacy, her fear of fulfilling the vision would cause her to shut down, to shut him out. 

Elain cleared her throat softly, bringing Lucien back to the present. She was still staring at him with that playful little smirk that he hadn’t seen in longer than he could remember. She tilted her head toward the bathing room and Lucien dutifully followed her.

Without a word, she began turning on the taps and adding a few citrus-fragranced products to the bathwater to make it foam and bubble. While the bath filled, she returned to stand in front of him and with frustratingly slow hands, she unfastened the buckle of his worn leather belt. Once she slid the belt from the loops of his trousers, she gripped the hem of his tunic, letting her fingernails graze his back as she pulled it over his head and arms. Lucien’s heart thrummed against his rib cage as she slowly unbuttoned his pants. Her delicate fingers were cool as she slipped her hands beneath the waistband to slip the pants and undershorts over his hipbones. 

Lucien’s mouth had gone dry. Perhaps it was the long months with almost no intimacy, but his nerves were wound just as tightly as they’d been during their initial mating frenzy. Every single place where her skin met his was electrified. 

She was utterly silent until the bath was full, steam rising from the foaming water. “In,” she commanded. 

Lucien obeyed, his eyes drifting closed and a soft sigh escaping him as he sank into the hot water. He lay back as far as he could in the magnificent claw-footed tub, submerging his hair completely. When he surfaced, his eyes shot open as he heard Elain moving behind him. With the extended abilities and range of his mechanical eye, he was able to see that she had dragged a wooden stool over to the side of the tub, a coarse porous sponge in her hand. She drizzled one of the bath products on the sponge, dipped it into the tub, and used her free hand to push against his back. 

Obeying her command, he leaned forward, the smooth surface of the water rippling slightly. Elain scrubbed his back, gently rubbing the sponge over the criss cross of pearly white scars that marred his tanned skin. Once she had finished his back and moved to wash his chest, his breath caught as she drew the sponge over his hips and down to his thighs. Elain’s eyes raked up his chest until she met his gaze, even as his mechanical eye remained fixed on the sponge in her hand… and how it continued to graze teasingly over his lap. She didn’t even bother rolling up the chiffon sleeve of her dress, the fabric now soaked to her elbow. 

Lucien didn’t even realize she had let go of the sponge until her fingertips grazed the inside of his thigh and her hand closed around him. He jerked in surprise, his eyes going wide. Elain—the wicked female—laughed softly at his shocked response and, knowing full well what it would do to him, drew her bottom lip between her teeth as she grinned. 

Lucien dropped his head back against the rim of the tub, his eyes drifting closed as she stroked him. What he wanted most in that precise moment was for his mate to discard her dress completely and climb atop him, right there in the porcelain tub. But he was not about to be persnickety when intimacy of any kind had become such a rare occurrence for them. He groaned as her fingernail flicked across the tip of his length. She twisted her hand slightly, her strokes tantalizingly slow. When he let out another long, low groan, Elain removed her hand from him, from the tub, without warning. 

“What—”

“Out,” she ordered, drying her arm with one of the towels on the sink. 

Once again, Lucien obeyed, carefully rising from the tub and reaching for the towel Elain had just finished with. She snatched the towel from his hand, though, before he could begin to dry himself off. Reaching for his hand, she led him back into their bedroom until he was standing at the foot of their bed. 

_ Go on, then. _

**_Oh, I can get in the bed now?_ ** He teased. 

_ You’re clean enough,  _ she replied,  _ though I don’t imagine you’ll be going straight to sleep. _ Even though she spoke down their bond and not aloud, her voice was positively seductive. Lucien involuntarily licked his bottom lip as he followed her instruction and pulled back the comforter.

**_Am I allowed to comment on how positively unfair it is that I’m bare bones naked and you’re still fully clothed?_ **

_ No, you are not.  _

Lucien’s whole being buzzed with anxious energy. He absolutely loved when she was assertive. 

Elain climbed into the bed beside him. She tangled her fingers in his loose damp hair and tugged, closing her mouth onto his. Lucien jerked again when she returned her other hand between his legs. Between the feel of her hand on him and her tongue colliding with his, he felt as if he could come apart right then and there.

_ Oh, no you don’t.  _ Elain broke off the kiss, wrenching her mouth off his. She shifted her weight onto her hip, gripped him by the hilt, and lowered her mouth over the length of him. 

Lucien dropped his head back, not realizing how close he was to their headboard as the back of his head collided painfully with the wood. Stars danced in his vision but he barely even noticed as Elain continued to stroke him with both her hand and her mouth. 

“Oh, gods, Elain,” he moaned as she dragged her tongue down his entire shaft. The combined movements of her hand, lips, and tongue rocked him to the brink of ecstasy. He silently cursed her fully dressed form, longing to caress his finger down the center of her and elicit a moan of her own. He tried to work his hand beneath her skirts, but she wedged her knee against his wrist, pinning it against his side. With his free hand, he settled for weaving his fingers into her loose honey-golden curls. He closed his hand to a fist, gripping her hair tightly. Her responding whimper of pleasure pulsated through her lips, still wrapped around his throbbing shaft. Lucien tipped his head back again and groaned as his release cascaded through him. 

Elain sat up, both of them still breathing heavily. With a satisfied, albeit exhausted smile, she slid from the bed and padded over to their dresser. Stripping the dress off, she selected a short satin nightdress and slipped it on before moving to extinguish the lamps.

It was still early evening, though with winter approaching, the days were growing shorter and shorter. Still, it couldn’t be past six in the evening. Lucien couldn’t be bothered to care though, considering he hadn’t slept at all the night before and now he was more exhausted than before. 

“Lucien,” Elain said, staring pointedly at him. 

“Hmm?” The way she was looking at him made him suspect she called him once or twice already and he hadn’t heard her. 

“I asked if you wanted a clean pair of undershorts?”

“Oh,” he said with a yawn. “No. You went through such diligent effort to ensure I was clean enough to be in our bed.” He offered her a wicked grin to which she rolled her eyes.

Considering the early evening hour, Lucien was pleased when Elain joined him in the bed, snuffing out the lamp on the bedside table. She didn’t object when Lucien curled himself around her, wrapping an arm around her waist and tugging her close enough to breath in the scent of her hair. He kissed the nape of her neck, causing her to shiver slightly. 

_ I know what you fear…  _

Elain stiffened, and Lucien realized that they must both be hearing it at the same time. 

_ I know what you both fear….  _

“Not tonight, you don’t,” Lucien replied with a growl. 

Elain’s rigid form relaxed slightly, though from the cruel laugh resonating through Lucien’s head, he suspected Elain was hearing the same. 

_ What you fear will indeed come to _ —

“Oh, fuck off,” Lucien barked, holding Elain tightly against him. 

He could have sworn the Whisperer sneered as it faded into the dark. The last sound he heard before he drifted off into dreamless sleep was a tiny relieved sigh from his mate.

  
********************************

Lucien squinted against the bright blazing sunlight shining directly into his eyes. He shifted, trying to roll over, but Elain still slumbered beside him and he couldn’t turn over without disturbing her. Fortunately, he didn’t have to since she made a small sound of protest to the brightness and buried her face against his chest. 

“Five more minutes,” she mumbled. 

Lucien peered over her honey-colored hair, which seemed illuminated as the sun lit their room, toward the clock. 

“By the Cauldron, it’s almost noon,” Lucien remarked, though he made no effort to get out of the bed. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept so hard. Despite the Whisperer’s attempt to unnerve them just before they fell asleep, he didn’t have a single dream all night. At least none that he remembered. 

“How did you sleep?” He asked tentatively. 

“Like the dead,” Elain replied, her voice muffled from still being tucked against his chest.

Thank the Mother for small favors. 

“We apparently left the drapes open,” Lucien observed, still blinking back the sunlight that shone into the room.

“It would seem so.” 

Elain suddenly shot up, her eyes wide with embarrassed horror. “Oh gods, we left the drapes open last night.”

Lucien caught her meaning and broke into a laugh. “Good thing we’re on the second floor. And our bed isn’t right up against the window.”

“Well, we know one thing for certain,” Elain said, working her hair into a loose braid. 

“Hmm?”

“We know Rhys or the others didn’t happen to walk past.”

Lucien’s eyebrow arched. “How do we know that?”

“Because you know damn good and well that if Rhys saw us last night, he would  _ not  _ have waited this long to tease us about it.”

She was absolutely right. Rhys—and Cassian—would not waste an opportunity to tantalize them about what they had seen. 

“I have no desire to do anything productive today,” she said, a yawn escaping her. 

“Good,” Lucien replied. “Neither do I.”

He wrapped his arm around her waist and tugged her back down against the mattress. “So, let’s not do anything productive,” he declared. “Let’s not even get out of this damned bed all day.”

Elain pursed her lips, obviously contemplating. 

“Come on,” Lucien drawled. “When is the last time we just took an entire day for us?”

“It has been a while,” she agreed reluctantly. “Do you at least want me to go downstairs and get some food?”

As if in response, Lucien’s stomach gurgled. But he distinctly remembered the last time they’d been intimate and in the time it had taken Lucien to go get food from the kitchen up at the House, something had shifted, sending up that wall of ice between them. 

He also recalled how the Whisperer had tried to wedge itself between them last night. For whatever reason, it hadn’t been able to affect them like it usually did. Something about having his mate held firmly against him, feeling the heat from her own skin against his own, had been the strength he needed to banish the evil creature from his mind… at least for the night. They still had no concrete idea what this Whisperer was or where it came from, but it seemed it was most successful at spreading its malcontent when its victims were isolated. Alone. 

“No,” Lucien said, holding tighter against her waist, even as his stomach growled again. “No, for now, I just want this.”

He knew it was impossible for them to remain glued to one another’s side indefinitely. Tomorrow, they would have to resume their normal routines and more than likely, the Whisperer would find its way back into both of their minds. They would deal with tomorrow when it came. But for today, Lucien intended to keep his mate firmly by his side and in his sight. 


	21. Chapter 21

They didn’t leave the bed the entire day except to use the bathing room. To Elain’s great delight, Lucien remembered the bag of honeycrisp apples he had brought back from the Day Court, which still lay in his travel sack on their bedroom floor.

“This is the most delicious apple I have ever tasted,” Elain said as she bit into one. 

“I would say you were only exaggerating because of how hungry we both are,” Lucien said between mouthfuls, “but I specifically brought them home  _ because _ of how good they are. Helion said the Day Court has the largest orchards in Prythian. Something about the added power of the sun’s light makes everything grow better. Gives it all a richer flavor.”

“He wasn’t wrong,” she said, smacking her lips as she tossed the apple core back into the bag, now empty as the apples sat in a pile on their nightstand. “It is divine.”

They spent the rest of the day in a state of lazy indulgence. Lying beside one another, they talked and laughed like they hadn’t in far too long. With a pang, Lucien realized he truly couldn’t remember the last time he heard Elain’s unbridled laugh. The one that reached all the way up into her eyes, making them dance. 

Later, while they exchanged kisses that were as slow and indulgent as everything else had been that day, Elain preemptively apologized for not wanting to go beyond kisses that night. 

Lucien’s response had been to press his lips to her forehead and whisper, “You don’t need to apologize for that, dove.”

“But—”

“But nothing,” he insisted. He combed through her hair with his fingertips. 

“Perhaps,” she offered, “once this Whisperer business is resolved…”

She trailed off, though she needn’t have finished her statement. Lucien knew plainly what she meant. When the Whisperer was handled, when her visions finally ended, he would take her to bed as he did when they were first mated. But for now, he was content just to hold her as they both fell asleep. 

  
*************************

Lucien woke to see the pale pre-dawn sky through their window. Rolling over, he reached for Elain, only to find her side of the bed empty. 

_ No. Not yet.  _

He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep her within his sights forever, but he just wanted a little longer before they rejoined the world again. The sound of the toilet flushing preceded her emergence from the bathing room. One look at her told him that their brief detour of blissful solitude was over. She stopped in the doorway of the bathing room upon seeing him awake. Her eyes were still the lovely doe-brown he’d grown to love, but once more, they held a hollowness that could only be caused by one thing. 

“It got to you, didn’t it?” He asked, his mouth in a tight line. 

“Yesterday was an illusion, Lucien,” she replied with a coldness he hadn’t known she possessed. “This is our life now.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” he countered pleadingly. “It can’t torment us when we’re united. Don’t you see, this is what it does. It isolates us and goes after us when we’re alone. When we’re at our weakest.”

“So, what do you plan to do?” She snapped. “Strap me to your back and carry me everywhere you go?”

“Of course not,” he replied, concealing the sting her words carried. “But if we fight back instead of letting it in, we might stand a chance.”

“Not all of us are that strong, Lucien. Not everyone can be on their guard every moment of every day.”

“You are the strongest person I know,” he said, sliding off the edge of the bed. He moved toward her, but stopped as she recoiled. Some invisible lance pierced his heart at that sight. Never, not once in the years they had been mated, had she shied away from him. 

“What if we get away for a bit, hmm?” He suggested. “My mother said she would love to see you. We could go to Day for a while?”

The corner of Elain’s mouth twitched, as if she wanted to smile. As if she was considering it and seemed to be in favor of his suggestion. Seeing that she had given him an opening, Lucien continued.

“My mother said she has been through… well, what you’re visions are warning you of and she might be able to help you—”

“Wait,” Elain cut him off. “What?”

His brows creased in confusion. “My mother,” he repeated. “She said that before Eris, she lost several so I just figured she might be able to help somehow.”

“You told your  _ mother _ ?!” She spat, though her voice was laced with the pain of his betrayal. 

“I didn’t actually tell her. She just sort of… guessed,” he beseeched. 

“Oh, really? She just casually  _ guessed _ that I’m having premonitions of miscarriages?” The softness that usually accompanied Elain’s tone was gone, replaced with venom. “That a horrible nasty voice hisses in my ear day and night that it is my destiny to be infertile? Of course she did. That is such a  _ common  _ problem for people so I’m sure she just  _ guessed. _ ”

“And what about hearing that awful voice?” Lucien fired back. “You managed to tell everyone else except me?”

“You didn’t bother telling me  _ you _ were hearing it, so don’t even try to throw that at me!”

“Yes, how terribly inconsiderate of me,” he seethed as his blood heated, “to try and lessen the strain on you by not telling you about a mysterious, bodiless voice that I had no way of knowing anyone else was hearing too! For all I knew, I was going mad!”

Elain stood across the room from him, arms crossed over her chest. “You had no right to—”

“To what?” Lucien snapped. “To tell my mother she guessed right? To talk to  _ someone _ about it because you sure as hell won’t talk to me. You go entire days without even  _ looking  _ at me!”

“That’s not fair,” she retorted. 

“Why not?” He challenged, refusing to back down. He had been silent and patient for so long and his resolve had finally broken. He almost wished they hadn’t just shared a near perfect day together yesterday. It made this confrontation that much harder to swallow and he wondered if the Whisperer orchestrated all of it. Perhaps it  _ intentionally  _ left them alone to give them both a false sense of security, just to rip it away and bring all their bitterness to the surface at last. “You’ve told Briar and Aridea more than you’ve told me. So, it’s okay for you to talk about it, but I can’t, is that it?”

“You just don’t un—”

“Don’t you _dare_ tell me I don’t understand,” he roared. “Elain, I have tried _everything_ I can possibly think of to make you understand that I don’t care! I don’t care if we have kids. For fuck’s sake, look what _not_ having children is doing to us!”

He gestured with a wide sweeping wave of his hands. At the entire room between them… which might as well have been the ocean. “You’ve let yourself be consumed by this obsession to bear a child that you haven’t even seen how it’s driving us apart.”

“I  _ have  _ seen it,” she beseeched. 

Lucien staggered back a half step as something broke within him. She had seen what it was doing to them—how it was ripping them apart. She couldn’t have meant that… 

He tried to swallow, but his mouth had gone dry. “And what then?” He asked, so quietly he wasn’t sure if she heard him. “You just don’t care?”

“I—”

Lucien jerked back, throwing his hand up to stop her. If she truly didn’t care, he wasn’t sure he could stomach hearing her say it. His chest felt as if it was caving in upon itself and he looked away from her before his heart shattered entirely. His trousers lay draped over the footboard of the bed and as he reached for them, the tiny box containing the pendant from Anlyn fell out. It bounced on the floor before settling like a weight between them. Lucien bent down to retrieve it, setting it on the dresser. “For you,” he said hollowly. “From my mother.”

He tugged on his tunic and boots, hardly noticing what he was doing. 

“Where are you going?” Elain’s voice had lost all the vitriol and anger from moments before. 

Lucien paused, unsure where he planned to go. He only knew he had to get out of this stifling bedroom and—though it broke his heart to admit it to himself—away from Elain. 

“The House,” he answered without thinking. Though, perhaps that wasn’t a bad idea after all. He could talk to Bryaxis at least. 

“For how long?”

Lucien finally looked up, meeting her wide doe-brown eyes. “Does it matter?”

He didn’t wait for her to answer before winnowing, didn’t want to know what her answer would be. The House was still warded, but trekking up those steep perilous stairs required his full attention, so for at least an hour, he didn’t have to think about the broken heart he’d left down at his townhouse. 


	22. Chapter 22

Once Lucien reached the apex of the stairs and emerged in the House, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. He’d gotten enough sleep to recover from his exhaustion after leaving the Day Court but for some reason, he wasn’t quite ready to talk to Bryaxis yet. The long walk up the stairs had indeed helped him level out his heart… and his head. Elain’s words still stung, but at least now that some physical distance separated them, it felt more like a dull throb than a piercing stab. 

Lucien called out to see if anyone was there. Chances were, someone was always up at the House for some purpose or another. Only Nuala and Cerridwen answered his call, appearing out of the wall. 

“Oh, hello ladies,” he greeted them. 

“Master Lucien,” Nuala responded, dipping her head. 

“Ten years, Nuala,” he chided with a grin, “you can just call me Lucien.”

“Did you need anything?” Cerridwen asked. 

“No, just…” he hesitated, knowing full well that the wraith twins were close with Elain. “Just needed to get out of the city for a bit.”

Cerridwen pursed her lips but said nothing. Suddenly, an idea came to Lucien and he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it earlier. 

“I also wanted to check the House’s libraries for anything that might shed some light on this Whisperer business. I assume Rhys filled you in?”

The twins nodded, Nuala stepping forward. “Well, if you need anything—”

“I won’t bother you because you have your own lives and I can manage on my own.”

Cerridwen gave him a warm grateful smile before they both stepped backward, disappearing into the wall. 

For three days, Lucien did little beyond combing the shelves of the library within the House, sleeping, and eating. He hadn’t once tugged on the bond but in all fairness, neither had Elain. He poured all his energy into learning whatever he could about the Whisperer. The sooner they vanquished that creature back to whatever crack it crawled out of, the sooner he could focus on mending things with Elain.

During that time, only Cassian dropped by the House once to train and Lucien did allow himself a long enough break to spar with the Illyrian general. Prior to the Archeron sisters turning all their worlds upside down, Cass, Az, and Mor lived at the House full-time. But since the sisters were made… and later mated with Rhys, Cass, and Lucien, they all established secondary homes down in Velaris. Nesta could winnow and use the stairs if she wanted, but she didn’t have wings to fly herself to and from the House as she pleased. And Briar, of course, couldn’t even winnow. Only Mor and Aridea stayed at the House the majority of the time, but since Lucien had been there, he hadn’t seen nor heard from them. He wondered if Rhys might have sent them to Winter to see what information, if any, they could glean about the Whisperer.

By the third day, Lucien hadn’t discovered a single thing in the library that was any help, despite skimming through what felt like a thousand books. With a resigned sigh, he pulled a cloak on over his tunic and made his way toward the Great Library beneath the House. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see his friend—or, more accurately, hear him, since Bryaxis had no form for Lucien to see. He simply knew that Brax would want details, which would require Lucien to dreg up the fight with Elain. But he knew he couldn’t put it off any longer. Brax was already likely to be cross with him for waiting this long. 

Once inside, he waved a silent greeting to the priestesses who maintained the sacred repository as he descended the seemingly endless wide spiral staircase. Each time he made the trip down, it seemed shorter and shorter. 

As he neared the bottom, he raised a hand as if to halt the scolding before it began. “Before you jump down my throat for not coming down here sooner, just… don’t. Please.”

_ “If your mind is as heavy as your footfalls, my friend, you must be weary indeed.” _

“Hey, Brax,” Lucien acknowledged, pressing his back against the hard stone wall and sinking to the floor. “I don’t suppose your abilities extend as far as removing memories, do they?”

_ “They do not…” _

“That’s a shame, because I sure wish you could just erase the past few days.”

_ “Tell me of your woes, friend.” _

Despite the crushing blackness making it impossible for Lucien to see anything, he would have sworn he felt the creature move, settling beside him as it waited for him to speak. Lucien snorted to himself as he imagined Bryaxis taking the form of a giant dog, wagging its tail and looking at him with wide, expectant eyes. 

_ “Would you like me to illuminate my eyes again?” _

“No,” Lucien said with a small shudder. “Once was quite enough.”

_ “Very well then. Now… tell me what has happened since we last spoke.” _

Lucien started recounting the fight with Elain, but Bryaxis interrupted him. 

_ “No, go back farther. What of your meeting with Helion? Tell me of that first.” _

Lucien obliged him, telling the beast all about his first meeting with Helion and Azriel showing up in the middle of the night to bring them home. He spoke of their group’s revelation that multiple members had heard the Whisperer. Bryaxis hissed when Lucien mentioned it by name. The sound reverberated on the walls of the cavern, making Lucien’s head spin. 

_ “Did you say ‘the Whisperer?’” _

“Err, yes,” Lucien confirmed warily. “You know of it?”

_ “Let us just say… we’ve met.” _

“Wait, really?” Lucien’s interest rose. If Bryaxis could give them some insight on this thing, they would have a better idea of how to defeat it. “Where? When?”

_ “Long before you ever came into being. This ‘Whisperer’ as you call it is as old as Prythian itself.” _

“As I call it,” Lucien repeated. “So, what is its real name?”

_ “It does not have one, though Whisperer is as good of a title as any, for that is what it does. It infiltrates the minds of its victims, wriggling deep until it finds what that person fears most. And then it exploits it.” _

“What does it want? I mean, why does it do this?”

_ “Anarchy.” _

“Why?” Lucien pressed, trying to sound less desperate for the information than he truly was. 

_ “When a world is formed, the cosmos twists and bends its will to allow space for this new world to exist. In the creation of worlds there are often… unexpected consequences.” _

“And I suppose the Whisperer is one of those consequences?”

Lucien felt the air shift around him, as if Bryaxis was nodding. 

_ “It wreaked havoc on Prythian in the world’s infancy. The first generation of inhabitants to this world managed to contain it, trapping it away so deeply that its influence could not be felt by anyone.” _

“Then why is it loose now?” 

_ “When the Cauldron split ten years ago, it sent a ripple across the entire world.” _

“A ripple?” Lucien puzzled. “I didn’t feel anything.”

_ “You wouldn’t have. It was subtle, felt only by creatures like myself who have a more metaphysical presence would have been aware of it. Though I daresay your friend with the silver orbs for eyes _ —”

“Amren?”

_ “That one… she is not of this world. No matter how ordinary she seems now, she began as something else. She would have felt it.” _

“So, this ripple,” Lucien tried to make sure he was following and understanding Bryaxis, knowing full well that this information was vital to their defeating this threat. “What did it do? Release the Whisperer?”

_ “Precisely.” _

A cold chill ran down Lucien’s spine, causing him to shiver despite the warmth of his cloak. 

“How do we get rid of it? Can it be killed? Or if not, how do we put it back?”

_ “One question at a time, my eager friend.” _

“You don’t understand,” Lucien shot tersely. “This thing is destroying everything. I—I’m losing Elain because of it.”

Without warning, Bryaxis’s eyes illuminated, the monster blinking at him as it had done once before. 

_ “You did not tell me this.” _

“I got sidetracked,” Lucien admitted. “When you said you knew about the Whisperer, that became more important.”

_ “There is nothing more important than the bond with your mate!” _

Lucien’s ears rang as Bryaxis shouted at him. In all the hours he had spent down in this cavern, he couldn’t recall once when Brax had raised its voice. He hadn’t even realized it  _ could  _ shout. 

“Whoa there,” Lucien said in what he hoped was a soothing, steady voice. 

_ “Nothing, do you hear me? Nothing takes a higher priority than the bond you share with your mate.” _

“What’s this about? Did—did you have a mate at one time?”

_ “That is a story that will take entirely too much time. Time that _ — _ if the Whisperer is running rampant through Prythian again _ — _ you do not have.” _

“What aren’t you telling me, Brax?”

_ “The Whisperer generally attacks multiple targets at once, leapfrogging through them until he has devoured anything that is good or whole. If he has set his sights on your circle, he will destroy you all before moving to another group somewhere else in Prythian… until there are none left to resist him. You must either destroy the Whisperer, which I do not possess the knowledge on how to do so, or you must return it to its eternal prison.” _

“The Prison? That’s where it came from?”

_ “No, I said its prison, not  _ the  _ Prison.” _

“Well then… where is its prison?”

_ “Beneath the very earth. There is a lake, hidden deep beneath the surface. It was at the bottom of this lake that the Whisperer was kept captive.” _

“Where is this lake?” Lucien rubbed at his temples where a headache was forming. This was becoming much more complicated than he had ever anticipated. 

_ “Under the Mountain.” _

Lucien’s breath caught, his veins filling with ice. “No,” he whispered. How in the world was he supposed to explain to Rhys that to save Prythian—and each other—they would have to once more return to the place where they had endured so many horrors. Rhys had been trapped down there for almost fifty years. Lucien had only been down there for a few months and it had been pure hell. 

_ “I am sorry, my friend. If I knew of another way, believe me, I would share it with you.” _

“I have a lot to tell Rhys,” Lucien said with a sigh. His back screamed in protest as he stood, stiff from sitting against the stone wall for so long. “Do you know how we’re supposed to put it back?”

_ “Unfortunately, I do not.” _

“Well, it’s at least more than I started with,” Lucien said. “Thank you, my friend.”

As Lucien turned to head back up the stairs, Bryaxis called up to him. 

_ “Wait.” _

Lucien paused his ascent. 

_ “You still haven’t told me of the discourse between you and your mate.” _

“Soon,” Lucien promised. “I’ll come back soon and tell you the rest. But as you said earlier, we’re short on time, and I have to make sure Rhys hears this.”

_ “Very well. I shall await your return.” _

Lucien resumed his slow climb back up the spiraling levels of the library. Once he was about four levels up, he stopped again. “Hey, Brax?”

The creature made a sound to indicate it could still hear him, though Lucien suspected Bryaxis could hear everything inside that library. If he could see the sky and moon from a tiny hole carved into the ceiling, he could probably hear just as well as he could see. 

“If we need your help…”

_ “I will do whatever I can,”  _ the creature promised. 

“I’m sorry for asking you to get involved—”

_ “Prythian is my home too,”  _ Bryaxis reminded him.  _ “I have just as much to lose from its destruction as any of you. And you are my friend. I will come to your aid if it is required of me.” _

Lucien’s throat tightened. Had anyone told him a hundred years ago that one of his closest friends would be the creature of nightmares made real, Lucien would have told them they’d gone mad. But here he was, feeling both concern and gratitude toward his intangible friend. He nodded, knowing Bryaxis could see him, and resumed his ascent back to the surface. Just before he pulled the heavy wooden door to the library’s entrance, he paused and turned back to look down into the consuming blackness. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly, knowing his friend had heard him as clearly as if he’d shouted it. 


	23. Chapter 23

Lucien burst through the door of Rhysand’s townhouse, out of breath and panting. Rhys sprung out of an armchair and met him in the foyer. 

“What is it?” Rhys demanded. 

“Get Az. And the others,” Lucien declared. “It’s about the Whisperer.”

Barely ten minutes later, most of Rhysand’s Inner Circle were gathered in his living room. Cass and Mor claimed their usual seats while Azriel stood by the patio door. Amren leaned against the banister of the staircase, snacking on caramel popping corn.

“Where are the girls?” Lucien asked. 

“What are we?” Mor retorted, gesturing to herself and Amren. “Ducks?”

“No, you know what I mean,” Lucien huffed impatiently. “The rest of the girls.”

“Feyre and Suri are at her studio,” Rhys offered. “She’s hosting a painting class for the children tonight. But I’ll fill her in on everything.”

“And Nesta is in the mountains,” Cass supplied. “She and Emerie have become fairly good friends.”

“Briar and Aridea took Elain to a symphony at the music hall,” Azriel explained, to which Lucien gave a nod of gratitude. He had really only wanted to know where  _ his _ girl had gone, but didn’t want to give the impression that he didn’t know where his own mate was, especially since he’d been gone for three days. 

“Okay then,” Rhys said once it became apparent that everyone was either present or otherwise accounted for, “tell us what you’ve discovered.”

Lucien explained what he learned from Bryaxis, recounting his conversation with the creature in as much detail as he could recall. Feyre returned home halfway through Lucien’s narrative. She ushered Suri upstairs where Nuala and Cerridwen were supposedly waiting for her before joining Rhys on the small loveseat. When Lucien finally reached the part about where they could find the Whisperer’s place of imprisonment, he waited tensely for Rhysand to respond. 

“Under the Mountain,” Rhys repeated grimly. 

“Unfortunately so,” Lucien replied. 

Feyre was gazing at her mate intently—no doubt she and Rhys were communicating through their bond. Finally, Rhys sighed. 

“I had hoped to never return to that place,” he lamented.

“Me either,” Lucien and Feyre said together. 

“But we shall do what must be done,” Rhys went on. “If what Bryaxis told you is accurate, it sounds like our group is the one in this Whisperer’s sights and it will not move on to another until it has destroyed us first.”

“I sure wish your  _ friend _ knew how to just kill the thing and be done with it,” Cass said. He no longer quaked in fear of Bryaxis… but he was also not volunteering for any of their weekly family dinner talks either. 

“You and I, both,” Lucien replied. “But at least we know where to start.”

“Agreed,” Rhys said. 

“So what’s our next move?” Mor asked. 

“We need to research as much as we can about Under the Mountain,” Azriel said. “The more we know going into it, the better prepared we might be. I know Rhys, Lucien and Feyre have been there, but the rest of us…”

“Very well,” Rhys conceded. “Find out everything you can.”

Wasting no time, Mor, Cassian, and Amren departed—Mor and Cassian to go up to the House and Amren to go comb through her own personal collection of references.

“In the meantime…” Rhys went on, “Lucien—”

“Hmm?” 

“Do you mind taking another visit to Day? Helion might have some information in the few libraries that survived Amarantha,” Rhys said. “And while you’re there, you might want to see if his spell-cleaving abilities are genetic. We might need them.”

Lucien nodded his agreement. 

“How soon can you be ready to leave?”

Lucien hesitated, his eyes involuntarily straying to the small garden beyond the patio door. He debated waiting until Elain returned from the symphony so he could update her on what was going on, but then his mind flashed back to the argument they had three days prior.

_ And what then? You just don’t care? _

To which she had shrugged—subtly, but it had still been there.

He could feel Azriel’s eyes on him as he replied. “Immediately.”

**********************  
  


Barely an hour after Lucien departed for the Day Court, Elain arrived home humming the melody from the orchestra she and her friends had gone to listen to. The music had been positively beautiful, though she knew with no small amount of certainty that the tune would be stuck in her head for days afterward. 

As she entered her living room, cheeks flushed from walking home in the chilly late autumn air, she could immediately tell that Lucien had been home. His scent, which had begun to dull in the three days he had been up at the House, was suddenly crisp and strong. Elain’s hand automatically reached for her neck—for the pendant hanging there. The pendant from his mother. 

She had stared at that box for almost half an hour after he left three nights ago. Stared at it as if it would somehow make him come back. She regretted her harsh words after he’d gone. She knew deep down that while his words stung, he was only trying to help her. They both said things they didn’t mean and though she had wanted to call down the bond to him the instant he left, she knew they probably both needed time to decompress. She tried to keep herself busy, going into the city with her friends anytime they offered to keep her mind from idly wandering. They just needed a few days apart though if she was honest with herself, she thought he would have been home by now. And he had been, as evidenced by the strength of his scent throughout their home. 

Taking a deep breath that she told herself had nothing to do with breathing in his scent and everything to do with steeling her nerves, she draped her coat over the armrest of the nearest chair and made her way upstairs. But when she entered their bedroom, he wasn’t there. She did a quick sweep of the room—nothing seemed disturbed or out of place from how she left it before she went to the symphony, though his scent was just as strong as it had been downstairs. He had at least come upstairs for something. 

Again, she closed her hand around the pendant hanging from her neck. When she had finally worked up the courage to open the box, she gasped at the sight of the necklace. A dove in flight passing in front of a sun made from dozens of tiny yellow and orange diamonds. She wondered if her mother-in-law knew that dove was the term of endearment her son used for Elain. She had immediately unclasped the necklace she currently wore—a nondescript silver design Lucien bought her on their second solstice together—and replaced it with the pendant from Anlyn.  Once she lifted the pendant from the small velvet box, a tiny folded note fell out. Elain unfolded it and read.

_ Dearest good-daughter,  
_ _ As you know, it is tradition for a mother to pass her mating ring down to her son to give to his own mate. As you also know, I do not have such a ring… yet. So in its place, I had this made for you to serve as a token of your mating bond.  
_ _ All my love,  
_ __ Anlyn

Elain smirked, imagining Anlyn winking at Helion as she wrote the bit about having her own ring to signify their mating bond.

Reading the letter naturally made her long for her own mate, though she made a conscious effort not to pull on their bond. Instead, she checked her nightstand, thinking she might find a note from Lucien explaining where he'd gone, but there was nothing. With a frustrated sigh, she made her way over to the closet and kicked off her shoes. When she removed and hung her dress back on its hanger, she noticed that Lucien’s rucksack was missing. 

Hastily, she pulled one of her nightdresses over her head and flung the doors of the wardrobe open, checking to see if the rucksack had somehow been moved from its spot on the closet shelf. Nothing. 

Wherever Lucien had gone, it seemed he had intended to be there for a few days. And he hadn’t left her a note or called down the bond to tell her he would be gone or anything. 

And suddenly, Elain was angry again. 

It had been three days since he had stormed off to the House of Wind. Surely, if he had come home and planned to go somewhere else, he would have had the decency to leave some kind of notice. But he’d left nothing but his scent behind. Just enough to taunt her by letting her know he’d been here… and not waited for her to come back before rushing off again. 

“Fine,” she seethed to her empty home. “You want to be petty? I’ll be petty.”

She stomped out the front door in nothing but her fleece nightdress and slippers, not giving a damn if anyone walking down the sidewalk gawked at her. She marched up to Feyre and Rhys’s townhouse, opening the door without knocking. 

“Oh, hello Elain,” Rhys crooned. “Something the matter?”

“Elain?” Feyre’s voice carried from the kitchen. A moment later, she emerged carrying two mugs of steaming cocoa and held one out for Rhys. “You just missed—”

“Elain,” Rhys drawled, cutting Feyre off. He made a dismissive gesture toward the mug, placing his arm around Elain and guiding her to the sofa. “What’s troubling you, dear sister-in-law?”

Feyre shrugged and set the two mugs on the low-lying table between the sofa and armchairs. 

“Can I go to the cabin for a few days?” Elain asked, directing her question more to Rhys than to her sister. 

“The cabin is always available to anyone in my Circle,” Rhys replied. “You know that.”

“Yes, but… I’d like to go alone,” she clarified. “I just need a few days by myself to decompress. And I’d like for no one else to decide to use the cabin while I’m there.”

Feyre scowled. “Completely alone? I don’t know, Elain… What if the Whisperer gets inside your head while you’re there?”

“It’s always in my head,” Elain countered forlornly, trying to ignore the looks of pity they gave her. 

“If that’s what you need to do,” Rhys consoled, “then I don’t see an issue with it. Feyre and I will know you’re there, so we can check in on you if need be.”

“I’ll be fine,” Elain insisted. “But thank you.”

“When do you plan to go?”

Elain chewed on her lip. She hadn’t thought that far in advance. Truthfully, she hadn’t considered going to the cabin until she had burst into Feyre’s house. “Tonight, if that’s fine with you.”

Rhys and Feyre exchanged a glance, and no doubt, a silent conversation through their bond. Elain’s chest tightened as she wondered if she should call down her own bond. To see where Lucien went. 

_ No, _ she told herself.  _ He didn’t tell you where he was going, so don’t go crawling to him begging for information that wasn’t volunteered. Don’t be pathetic.  _

Besides, he had probably just gone back up to the House of Wind. Though if that were the case, she couldn’t imagine why he would have needed his rucksack. 

“That’s fine,” Feyre replied. “Do you want Rhys to take you?”

Elain opened her mouth to say no but reconsidered. She could winnow, but not far. She still hadn’t fully mastered the skill to where she could winnow great distances. Most times, she still had to see the place she would be winnowing to. On her own, it would take at least an hour to get to the cabin, tucked high away in the Illyrian Mountains. But if Rhys took her, they could get there in an instant. 

“Rhys, if you wouldn’t mind taking me, I would appreciate it,” Elain answered. 

“We’ll go whenever you’re ready,” Rhys said. 

“I just need to run back over to my house for a moment,” Elain said, rising from the sofa and heading toward the door. “I’ll be right back.”

Rhys nodded and Elain tried to ignore the sound of Feyre clicking her tongue. 

Elain hurried back to her own townhouse. She didn’t need to pack much since the magic of the cabin would provide just about anything she needed. She dug through her wardrobe until she found her cloak. Midnight emerald velvet lined with sheepskin and wool and trimmed in plush fur from some creature native to Prythian that Elain had never heard of before. It was by far the most expensive garment Elain owned. After spotting it in Deidre’s shop a few seasons ago, she had gushed over it. Little had she known at the time, Lucien, Feyre, and Nesta chipped in together to have it made especially for her. 

After fastening the cloak around her neck, Elain paused in the doorway. She wondered if she should leave a note, even though Lucien hadn’t. She shook her head, deciding against it. She was only going to stay a few days. What was the worst that could happen?

Once she reached the bottom of the stairs, she could see Rhys through the glass pane in the door, waiting patiently. She stepped outside, pulling up her hood against the blustery late autumn wind. 

“Ready?” Rhys asked.

“Yes,” she said, taking Rhys’s outstretched hand and squeezing her eyes shut. 

When she opened them, Velaris was gone, replaced by dense woods and the cabin in a small clearing. This high into the mountains, there was already snow on the ground. Elain breathed in the clear mountain air and hoped a few days out here would be what she needed to clear her mind. 

“Thank you, Rhys.”

“Anytime,” Rhys smiled. “One of us, probably Az, will check in with you at the end of the week and see if you’re ready to come back? Unless you think you’ll be ready before then?”

“No, that’s fine,” she replied. 

“Very well then,” Rhys said. “I hope you find what you need.”

“So do I,” Elain muttered, though Rhys had already winnowed away and didn’t hear her. 

With another deep breath, Elain lifted the hem of her skirt and tried to step in the places where the snow wasn’t as deep. She expected it to be cold but she hadn’t anticipated there would be snow yet, otherwise she would have swapped out her slipper-style flats for her fur-lined boots. She was even more grateful now that the cabin would provide her with appropriate—and warm—clothing. 

Once inside the cabin, Elain slipped her wet shoes off and hung her cloak on a sturdy hook behind the door. As if the cabin knew it would have an occupant, there was already a fire crackling, warming the room. She avoided looking up at the eyes painted throughout the room. Ever since her first visit here, she had found them slightly unsettling and she suddenly laughed so hard she snorted as she remembered an exchange between Lucien, Feyre, and Mor. 

_ Those are creepy. _

_ They are not! _

_ They are when you’re naked! _

Even on return trips to the cabin, with or without other members of the inner circle, the eyes still made Elain feel uneasy for some reason. She supposed it was just because they elicited the feeling of being watched. Now with the Whisperer lurking about, the eyes were that much more rattling. As a general rule, Elain planned to avoid them during her stay. 

Now that she was here, she wasn’t entirely sure what to do. She hadn’t planned on anything in particular—she had only known she needed to get out of her usual environment for a while. She asked the cabin for a dry change of clothes and promptly changed out of her dress, its hem damp despite her attempts to keep it out of the snow, and into fleece lounge pants, thick woolen socks, and an oversized sweater that came almost down to her knees. Elain almost never wore pants, but here by herself in the cabin, surrounded by snow, it felt more natural than a dress. 

Elain yawned and only just realized how late it must be. It was already past ten when she returned home from the symphony with Briar and Aridea… and that felt like it had been hours ago. She padded down the hallway, automatically moving toward the room she and Lucien always stayed in whenever their circle visited. She stopped with her hand on the doorknob. She came here to recharge herself—falling into her normal patterns was precisely what she needed  _ not  _ to do. 

So instead of going into the room she usually shared with Lucien, she crossed the hall to a room that was usually vacant when everyone was there. Even though the room was rarely used, it didn’t seem neglected or dusty from disuse. Part of the cabin’s magic, she assumed. 

Once she was nestled beneath the blankets, she laughed slightly. To anyone who didn’t know better, the cabin had to have been the size of a hunting lodge for all the rooms it had. She could only assume part of the cabin’s magic included being larger on the inside than it appeared from the outside. 

“Well,” she said drowsily, “it’s just you and me, cabin.”

_ Did you forget about me? _

Elain groaned and buried her face in the pillows. This retreat of hers might not be as rejuvenating as she had hoped. 


	24. Chapter 24

When she woke, Elain strained to listen. A futile effort, since the Whisperer existed from within her very mind. All the same, she heard no trace of its sinister laughter or crooning voice, and when she emerged into the kitchen, the cabin had a lovely breakfast of fruits and breads prepared for her. She spent the majority of the day reading from a horticulture book that appeared on the living room coffee table, taking notes on the various species she planned to plant in her flower beds for the spring and summer.

Around midday, she paused to stretch her legs and rest her eyes. The cabin seemed to know what she wanted and without even having to ask, a long-sleeved wool dress, leggings, and boots appeared for her. She took a brief walk through the woods surrounding the cabin, returning to its warmth when the tips of her ears and nose were numb to the cold. 

That night, it began snowing and hadn’t stopped by the following morning. When she woke and saw the snow still falling, she grinned and rushed to the kitchen, retrieving the largest bowl she could find. She set the bowl outside on the lowest step, beyond the reach of the covered porch. While she waited, she sat in one of the rocking chairs, wrapped in a thick blanket, and watched as squirrels and birds flitted around the tops of the trees. When the bowl was nearly full, Elain carried it back into the house, where she set to mixing in milk, sugar, vanilla, and a pinch of salt.

She had fond memories of her mother making the treat for her and her sisters, but after their mother died and they lost their estate, luxuries like sugar and vanilla became impossible to obtain. She laughed as she remembered teaching Nuala and Cerridwen to make it. 

“What did you say it’s called?” Nuala had asked. 

“Snow cream,” Elain said. “And if you can get ahold of some melted caramel or hot fudge, it makes it even better.”

As if thinking of the memory summoned the request, two bowls containing molten caramel and chocolate sat in front of her on the table. 

“Well, thank you,” she chirped, adding a hefty spoonful of chocolate to her concoction. “Don’t mind if I do.” 

Elain settled into a comfortable routine of reading, sleeping, and eating. The Whisperer did taunt her occasionally, but each time, she would close her eyes and take several long deep breaths, repeatedly dismissing it until it would vanish, presumably to torment someone else. Though each time, it took her longer and longer to be rid of the voice. On her third morning at the cabin, she was willing to admit to herself that she had grown a bit bored. 

While it was nice to get away and have some time solely for herself, she realized how lonely of an existence it would be without her friends or her sisters or her mate. Even now, when she and Lucien weren’t speaking to one another, she knew that eventually, they would both go home to one another. She couldn’t imagine having no one to share her life with. Despite the hardships they had all endured—both together and individually—Elain knew she would endure it all to still be part of this family. 

Finally, after three days of averting her eyes and casting her gaze downward whenever she was in the living room or kitchen, Elain peered up at the painted eyes encircling the room. The eyes of all the ones she held most dear to her. She easily picked out Rhysand’s with his unique violet gaze. Amren’s and Mor’s were also easy to spot and Elain would recognize Feyre’s eyes anywhere. She was even able to discern the difference between Azriel’s and Cassian’s, despite their having the same shade of hazel eyes. Shortly after their second Solstice together, Feyre had added three additional sets of eyes. 

Elain glanced briefly at those of her eldest sister, painted between Cassian and Feyre’s. Even as oil paint on weathered wood, Nesta’s stare was just as piercing and intense as ever. Her gaze shifted over to her own eyes—the same soft brown as a doe’s fur—and had the odd sensation of looking into a mirror. Truly, Feyre was a master of capturing each one of their personalities and features so perfectly that it felt as if she  _ was  _ staring into a mirror instead of beholding her eyes painted on the wall. She tried desperately to look away from the last set of eyes, but just as she had felt drawn to him from the moment she’d been dumped out of the Cauldron, her gaze was pulled involuntarily to the eyes directly above the fireplace.

Painted beside her own, a pair of well-loved mismatched eyes gazed unblinkingly back at her. One deep russet brown and the other burnished gold. Feyre had even included traces of the scar that cut through his chestnut eyebrow and down onto his eyelid. Elain stared so long she began to forget they were merely paint. The gold in his metallic eye seemed to actually shine, as if a soft afternoon sun was shining upon it. 

The longer she stared, the more her heart constricted. She so desperately wished she could give him that which he wanted. What they both wanted. More than anything, she wished she could look at him without an ocean of guilt and inadequacy washing over her. She wished they could be as carefree and in love as they’d been the first time they visited this cabin together. She almost wished the visions of her inevitable failure would just come to pass and let her wallow in her own grief. Then at least, they might be able to move on. More than anything, she wished the menacing voice that whispered in her ear would leave her alone.

As if summoned by the mere thought of it, an echoing made of smoke and nothingness reverberated inside her own head.

_ You know when I’ll leave you alone. _

“Go away,” she bemoaned.

_ Not yet… Only when— _

“When I fail as a mate and prove to be barren,” Elain snapped. “You’ve told me.”

_ Get used to this feeling, wretched girl. When that day comes to pass, he  _ will  _ leave you. Your sisters will shun you. Your friends will forsake you. You’ll have no one but meeeeeee. _

Elain grabbed fistfulls of her own hair and tugged, fruitlessly trying to yank the voice out of her head as she collapsed on the hearth.

_ “Leave me alone!” _ She screamed into the empty cabin, her arms clutched tightly around her knees. “Leave me the hell alone! I am sick of you trying to destroy  _ everything!” _

Hot, angry tears streamed down her cheeks. She had wept tears of sorrow and self-pity for months, allowing the morose feelings that the Whisperer planted in her head to tear her down piece by piece. At last, she felt as if all the pieces of her had been ripped apart and scattered across the Night Court. There was nothing left to break. She was alone. And for that, she was furious.

Furious that she could not be left alone to a life of blissful peace with her mate and her family. Furious that this… thing had preyed upon her so relentlessly that she was beginning to alienate everyone who meant anything to her. The voice had told her over and over again what would happen… and she had let it. She wondered now if it had come to pass because she’d foreseen it or if the Whisperer had made her believe it so thoroughly that she had created the circumstances that ensured her visions were made real.

She stared into the painted eyes of her mate for one more long moment until a wave of nausea washed over her and she had to look away. How could she have  _ ever  _ believed he would forsake her? Granted, he was a bit of an idiot at times, thinking she needed enough space for an ocean to exist between them. But he had waited for her once—he would do it again. Hadn’t he told her that he would wait a hundred years or more for her? Why had she suddenly stopped believing he meant it? 

Because the voice had told her so.

Finally, she realized that this was the Whisperer’s intention all along. It had hissed inside her head, filling it entirely with morose, desolate thoughts until there was no room left for any positivity, any hope that those she loved would still love her. And oh, how she hated it.

Elain stood abruptly.

“I need my cloak,” she said to the cabin. The delightfully domestic magic of the house materialized her thick velvet cloak of deep emerald, which had been stowed away to wherever the cabin’s magic concealed things. She swept it gracefully over her shoulders and fastened the clasp around her neck.

_ Where do you think you’re going?  _ The voice hissed inside her head.  _ There is nowhere you can go that I cannot follow, you know. I’m inside your head. _

“I’m going for a walk in the woods,” she said aloud. “I don’t rightly give a damn if you come along or not.”

Though she couldn’t be certain, she felt as if the Whisperer had faltered at her aggressive reply. If a bodiless voice could be offended, she took pleasure in thinking that it was.

Elain strode out the door toward the tree line. The cold mountain air bit at her cheeks but she relished the cold. It reaffirmed that she was out in the open where she could think. She adored the cabin, but at times, especially with all the eyes peering down on her, it felt overcrowded. It was even worse when more members of the Inner Circle were present and not just represented by their eyes.

She charged through the woods with reckless abandon. Twigs and leaves snapped under her feet in places where the trees had been so dense the ground was barely covered in a thin dusting of snow. In the sparser areas where snow had settled heavily on branches, Elain shoved them out of her path, knocking the snow to the ground. She wasn’t concerned about getting lost—if she found herself unable to find her way back, she would simply winnow back to the perimeter of the cabin. She didn’t consider that anyone—aside from the Whisperer, that was—would be out there trying to find her. 

She wouldn’t realize until it was too late that she was leaving an extremely easy trail to follow and as a result, she wasn’t paying attention when three males seized her. She was too startled to scream, and the gag they shoved into her mouth would have made it impossible anyway. Blinding panic seized her as she fought against them, flailing her arms and kicking in a wild attempt to free herself. One of them put a thick gloved hand to her throat. She yanked back and the chain of her necklace snapped. In the precious few seconds that she stopped fighting to stare at the pendant in the snow, the males had bound her hands and blindfolded her, winnowing out of the woods to the Gods knew where. 

  
************************

As soon as Lucien explained about the Whisperer and what he was searching for, Helion sent two dozen of his servants to the various libraries that had either been overlooked during Amarantha’s reign or those that were slowly being rebuilt. Afterward, there was nothing to do but wait. Helion forewarned Lucien that it could be a few days before they returned with anything.

“When I send them on a trip to search the libraries, they know to be thorough,” Helion explained. 

“I’m not in a rush,” Lucien replied, biting down the unease that stirred in his abdomen. It was true—he wasn’t in a rush. Though they needed to discover how to defeat the Whisperer sooner rather than later, he was not in any hurry to return home and confront the awkwardness and tension between himself and Elain. 

“Good,” Anlyn said, “So you can stay a few days, then?”

Lucien nodded. Which was how he found himself sitting at a grand dining table with only three place settings a few days later. He assumed spending time with his newly-reunited parents would be slightly awkward, but he had been completely unprepared for how embarrassing it would be. 

He tried to look anywhere other than across the table at his mother, who was giggling like an adolescent fae as Helion fed her a bite of cheesecake from his own fork. Still, he wouldn’t ever ask his mother to suppress herself for his own comfort. She had been subdued for far too long under Beron’s fist and for the first time in centuries, she was free. Free to do and say the things she wanted. Free to laugh at absolutely nothing as she shared a dessert with her mate. Lucien would never be the one to snuff that light out. 

So, he silently endured it. The laughter and the coy glances. The ways they always seemed to find a way to touch one another—like how his mother laid her hand over Helion’s forearm as she listened to him speak or when Helion would lean forward until their foreheads touched, his eyes closed in wordless adoration. All in all, it reminded Lucien too much of the days after he and Elain were first mated. 

Which, he reminded himself, was the exact stage his mother and Helion were in. Lucien had to squeeze his eyes shut and force himself to think of the bogge or the naga or the attor. Anything except his mother and Helion—

“So,” Lucien said loudly, capturing both their attention, “Mother, what’s your favorite part of the Day Court?”

“Oh,” Anlyn replied, her cheeks flushed. “Well—”

“Besides Helion,” Lucien rolled his eyes. 

His mother giggled again. He had never heard her laugh this much. 

“I love the vineyards,” Anlyn said, reaching for her goblet of wine. “Day has miles of vineyards and they are just lovely.”

She eyed him carefully and added, “I think Elain would love them. You should bring her once the vines begin to flower. Helion said in late spring or early summer, they are just stunning.”

Lucien tried to keep his expression neutral, but the slight downward shift of his mother’s eyebrows suggested she knew he was keeping something from her. She shifted to look at Helion. 

“Sunshine, my love, I’m feeling nostalgic,” Anlyn crooned. “I don’t suppose you have any of the reserve left? From when we spent that summer sailing to the continent?”

Despite himself, Lucien’s curiosity was piqued. That was a story he wanted to hear later. 

“Anything for you, my  _ kardias _ ,” Helion replied softly as he stood, kneeling to kiss her forehead. He strode from the room to wherever his wine cellar was located. 

“Now, what’s the matter?”

“Why do you assume—”

“Don’t waste time, Lucien,” she said curtly. “I can tell when something is bothering you. What’s going on with you and Elain?”

“How on earth could—”

“I know my son,” she cut him off again. “You’ve looked uncomfortable all evening and I know it isn’t just from us,” she gestured between herself and Helion’s empty chair. “I got Helion out of the room because I suspected you weren’t comfortable mentioning whatever it is in front of him yet.”

Lucien pulled at the back of his neck and sighed. As quickly and succinctly as he could, he told his mother about what the Whisperer was saying to Elain the fight they had. 

“Surely, you’ve had arguments before?” Anlyn said when he finished speaking. 

“Of course we have,” Lucien replied. “But none like this…”

His mother reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “She will come around. Once this Whisperer business is resolved, I’m certain this lingering cloud of resentment and bitterness will not remain.”

“I certainly hope you’re right.”

Just as Helion appeared in the doorway, a bottle of wine in hand, Lucien surged back in his chair, his heart screaming with panic that was not his own. Gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turned white, he squeezed his eyes closed so tightly he saw stars. Just as abruptly as it had come on, the panic vanished, as if it had never happened. 

“Lucien?” Anlyn’s voice was laced with concern.

Slowly, he eased his eyes open to see Helion and his mother watching him intently. 

“What just happened?” Helion asked.

“I have no idea,” Lucien replied. “I just felt this… blinding panic. For no apparent reason.”

“Where is Elain at this precise moment?” There was no casual curiosity to Anlyn’s question—it was a clear demand. 

“I don’t know,” Lucien admitted. “At home, I assume. I didn’t see her before I left to come here.”

The crease between her brows deepened. 

“But surely,” Lucien continued, “if something was wrong, she would have called down the bond? I’m sure it was just another vision.”

“Vision?” Helion puzzled. 

“Elain is a Seer,” Anlyn explained quickly. “And lately she’s been having the same vision repeatedly.”

Anlyn didn’t say anything further, but Lucien knew she could communicate freely with her mate without using words now. He braced himself for the look of pity Helion would undoubtedly give him when his mother explained what Elain’s visions were about, but it never came. Instead, Helion just shook his head with an expression of slight disgust and said, “This Whisperer must be dealt with as soon as possible.”

“Agreed,” Lucien said. 

“Perhaps we should take a trip to one of the libraries ourselves,” Helion added, stroking his chin in contemplation. “The Hall of Archives is one of the oldest libraries in the Day Court. We might be able to find something useful there.”

“Someone should stay here,” Anlyn said, “in case Rhys sends word or if one of the servants returns with something.”

“Are you volunteering, my  _ kardias?” _

“Yes, I’ll stay here. You two go. Lucien knows precisely what we’re looking for and you know the library better than anyone. It makes sense for you two to go.”

“First thing tomorrow, then?” Helion glanced at Lucien, who nodded wordlessly. 

Anlyn cast a worried glance at Lucien. 

“I’m sure she’s fine, mother,” Lucien said calmly. “If she was in real danger, she would have called down the bond. Fight or no fight.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yes,” he replied, even as he hoped he was right.


	25. Chapter 25

Briar was sucking on her finger as she nudged the door of her apartment open with her shoulder. Just before close of business, she had accidentally stabbed herself with a sewing needle, courtesy of the Whisperer hissing into her ear right as she moved to shove the needle through a thick piece of leather. It liked to taunt her at work, knowing she couldn’t reply aloud without looking like she was insane. 

Once inside, she shrugged off her coat and greeted Azriel, who was hunched over at the desk in the corner, reading over something intently. 

“Well, that horrible customer picked up her  _ seventeen  _ dresses today,” Briar said, dropping into a chair beside the desk. “So, hopefully, we won’t have to see her for a good long while.”

Azriel straightened, flexing his wings and rubbing his eyes. “What in the worlds did she need seventeen dresses for?”

Briar snorted. “Someone in her family is getting married and all the females have to be dressed alike.”

“That sounds…”

“Atrocious,” she replied, removing the pins that held her hair in a tightly knotted coil on top of her head. “Tell me about it. So, what are you working on?” 

“Oh, just reading over a few things Clotho found for me in the library,” Azriel replied, gesturing to the extremely old-looking scrolls and volumes scattered about the desk. 

“Aren’t we going up there tonight anyway?”

Azriel glanced over at her, brows furrowed. 

“Family dinner,” Briar clarified. 

“Oh. I suppose. Though I’m not sure who all is here to go.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, everyone is off looking for anything that might shed some light on how to deal with the Whisperer. Amren left this morning to go to Summer. Varian is going to help her look for anything helpful. Lucien is searching Day’s libraries, Rhys and Feyre went to the Hewn City to search for anything that might be prudent. The twins are watching Suri. Mor went with Aridea to Winter. And Elain is still up at the cabin.” Azriel had been ticking off each member of their Inner Circle on his fingers as he accounted for their whereabouts. “Oh, and Nesta is still at the Illyrian camps with Emerie. So it would just be you, me, and Cass... But, if you want to go, I can ask him to meet us up—”

“No! This is exactly what it wants!” Too far. They were spread too far apart. She surged to her feet and began pacing.

Azriel stared at her, stunned into silence at her abrupt outburst.

“Look at us,” Briar fumed, gesturing to a map of Prythian hanging on the wall. “This is _exactly_ what it wants! It wants to keep us separated, cut off from the others, until it has each of us alone. It can wriggle its way deeper into our minds when we’re by ourselves. We’re stronger when we’re all together.” Her lower lip wobbled as her voice broke. “I can’t bear to watch it pick us apart one by one.”

Azriel stood, intercepting her as she continued pacing. He gripped her shoulders firmly but not tightly enough to hurt. “Look at me.”

Briar exhaled shakily and met his gaze.

“We are going to find a way to defeat this thing,” Azriel said, and if he lacked confidence in his own pronouncement, he showed no sign of it. “But we have to figure out how first. We don't know the first thing about this cave it's supposedly in aside from it being beneath Under the Mountain. I have faith that everyone in our circle has the strength to hold out until we find a way to beat it.”

He slowly stroked her arm, the motion soothing and warm. Briar folded herself into his chest and breathed him in. Not for the first time, she wished she knew what his scent smelled like. That was something only fae could detect. Mortal senses were too dulled to be able to recognize and differentiate between the various scent profiles each faerie possessed.

She had no doubt they would find a way to defeat the Whisperer. What she was most worried about was the eventuality that even the destruction of the Whisperer could not prevent. That one day, she would grow old and die while the rest of her family and friends remained forever young.

_ I know what you fear. _

Of course it would choose now to appear. Now, when she was wondering how long it would take before the ones she loved would forget her after she was gone. Briar squeezed her eyes shut, wrapping her arms more tightly around Azriel’s waist. In response, Azriel tucked his wings around her shoulders, enveloping her in a warm, secure Illyrian embrace. The Whisperer hissed as her fear began to shrink the longer she remained in her Shadowsinger’s arms. By the time he released her, the sinister voice had retreated to a place where Briar couldn’t sense its presence.


	26. Chapter 26

Elain’s head was pounding when she regained consciousness. She was lying on her side in a magnificent four-poster canopy bed, a beam of late-afternoon sun streaming through the window directly into her eyes. She tried to sit up but everything ached. She winced, both from a sharp pain in her side and a pungently-sweet odor that was making her eyes water.

The smell appeared to be coming from a filthy rag hanging loosely around her neck. She tried to remember the moments before she blacked out. Several burly males grabbed her in the woods and she distinctly remembered one of them snapping the chain of her necklace as he reached for her neck, holding a cloth over her nose and mouth.

Reaching up to remove the rag from her neck, she noticed abrasions on her wrist. She assumed those were from the restraints they tied around her wrists and ankles to keep her from fighting them.

The rag was so loosely tied, she was able to slip it over her head. She wrinkled up her nose at the lingering odor coming off the cloth. Whatever chemical or substance they’d used to neutralize her, it had been strong. With another wince, she slid off the bed and found an attached bathing room. She shoved the rag into a waste bin and piled a few towels on top of it to muffle the smell.

Gingerly, she raised the hem of her blouse, her ribs screaming in protest. A dark purple bruise in the shape of a boot had bloomed against her side. After using the facilities, Elain wandered back into the bedroom. A quick check of the doors—locked—confirmed her assumption that this room was her jail cell.

She glanced around the room, taking in her surroundings. The layer of dust that coated everything suggested that the room had been vacant and forgotten for quite a while.

“I wonder where I am?” She said aloud to the empty room, though she already suspected she knew. Wandering over to the window, the sight of dense foliage in varying shades of oranges, browns, and reds confirmed what Elain suspected from the moment she realized she was being abducted. She was in the Autumn Court.

Ever since she met Lucien and learned of his Autumn Court heritage, she wondered if she would ever get the chance to see the court itself. After learning all that transpired here, she had seriously doubted she would ever visit. And now, she was its captive.

Even though Lucien wasn’t truly a son of the High Lord of Autumn, Elain had always associated the Autumn Court with her mate. Because Beron’s son or not, he was still Anlyn’s son. Feyre once told Elain that Lucien seemed to have been crafted from the Autumn Court forests and now, as she gazed out the window at the sea of autumn leaves, she could understand what her sister had meant. Whether or not he wanted to have ties to this court, Lucien had autumn in his blood.

Elain closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath. Thinking about Lucien sent a wave of pain through her that had nothing to do with the bruise on her ribs. Surely, he had felt her panic and fear when those males grabbed her. Had he come to the cabin to investigate the source of her fear? Despite the harsh words they last said to one another, she found herself hoping he had forgiven her enough to come to her aid.

Returning to the bed, Elain tried to call down the bond but found it blocked by a solid wall of resistance. What she didn’t know was whether her inability to contact Lucien was because of whatever Beron’s men had dosed her with or because her mate had closed off that connection, unwilling to talk to her.

  
***************************

The sound of the door unlocking an hour later made Elain’s entire body tense. Now that she knew she was in the Autumn Court she’d been on edge, waiting for someone to collect her for a possible encounter with Beron. A meek-looking servant girl appeared in the open doorway. Wisps of her hair, bright as a marigold, peeked out from a kerchief she wore as a headband.

“Evening, miss,” the servant said, her eyes averted to the floor. “I’m to escort you to dinner.”

“I don’t suppose I have the option to decline?” Elain said ruefully. 

The servant still didn’t look up, though an expression of terror passed over her face. The poor girl would probably be whipped if she didn’t produce Elain. With a sigh, she rose from the bed and gestured to the servant. “Lead the way, then.”

Elain followed the servant down several corridors and though she tried to keep track of their movements, she was hopelessly lost. This manor was enormous. Even if she managed to pick the lock on the door to her room, which she didn't have the first inkling of how to do, she doubted she would figure out how to navigate her way to an exit before she was caught.

They entered a formal dining room with a high ceiling and tapestries covering three of the walls. The fourth was an enormous window that overlooked the forest. The servant gestured to the seat intended for Elain, its place setting already prepared and waiting.

“Thank you,” Elain said softly. “Err,” she added. “I don’t know your name?”

The servant merely shook her head, eyes still cast down to the floor. She twitched when the door opened and a tall, proud-looking High Fae entered who could only be Beron.

Beron had sharp features, cold eyes, and brown hair. He dismissed the servant with a flick of his wrist before taking his seat at the head of the table.

“It’s Elain, isn’t it?” Beron said, picking up his fork and knife.

Elain merely kept her head level, refusing to dip her chin or avert her eyes like he expected his servants to do.

“Surely, you must be hungry,” Beron continued. “Please, eat.”

She had no idea why he was going through such effort to display pleasantries, but she wasn’t about to make a show of protest by fasting. All she would gain from that would be to weaken herself and if she was going to figure out some way to get out of this place, she needed to be strong of body and mind. She speared a piece of roasted potato on her fork and brought it to her mouth. The damn thing was delicious. Seeming satisfied that she’d begun eating, Beron spoke again.

“Such a shame we’re meeting under these circumstances.”

“Indeed,” Elain replied. “To think you could have simply written and asked us to dinner instead of kidnapping me.”

“Tut tut,” Beron said, a spark of ire in his brown eyes. “Kidnapping is a crime. You were just temporarily and unwillingly relocated.”

“You can dress it up however you like… it’s still kidnapping.”

“Mind your tongue, girl,” he barked.

“Or what?” Elain challenged. “You’ll have it removed?”

“I just might,” Beron replied with icy calm.

She scoffed, hoping it hid the shudder that went down her spine. She hoped she sounded more defiant and brave than she felt. This male was dangerous—she knew that much from hearing Lucien and Anlyn speak about him. She wasn’t sure it was wise to stoke his wrath, but she also wasn’t sure what else she had to lose. She tried repeatedly to call to Lucien since she’d woken up in that bedroom, but had no more success than the first attempt. Perhaps he truly had written her off…

_ I know what you fear. _

No, not now. Elain gripped the seat cushion of her chair, silently counted to five, and exhaled.

“What do you want with me?”

Instead of answering, Beron steepled his fingers together and peered over them at Elain. “Where is my wife?”

“How should I know?”

Elain jerked as Beron’s hands slammed down on the table, making the glassware and dishes rattle.

“Don’t be coy with me.”

“I have no idea where your wife is,” Elain snapped. “If you can’t keep track of her, why is that any business of mine?”

Beron bared his teeth slightly. “Fine. If you don’t wish to tell me, you can continue to be our guest until you see fit to share that information.”

“Guests are allowed to leave whenever they like.”

Beron’s smile held no warmth as he called for two of his sentries to escort Elain back to her room.

“Your meals will be brought up to you from here on out,” Beron said to her as two emotionless males flanked her sides and ushered her out of the dining room.


	27. Chapter 27

There was a thin coating of snow covering Velaris when Lucien returned to the Night Court. He adjusted the satchel strap on his shoulder, the bag weighed down with several tomes and scrolls that might be helpful for their quest to defeat the Whisperer. As much as he wanted to go straight home, he needed to get this information to Amren. She was the best researcher among them all, considering how many languages she could speak and read.

His plan was to drop the bag of books at Amren’s and then promptly go find Elain. He didn’t care what hurtful, rash things they last said to each other—he would forgive her and hope that she would forgive him. And that they could move forward together, to whatever their future held.

Amren wasn’t home when Lucien arrived at her loft, so he left the satchel on the kitchen table with a brief note and left. When he returned to the row of townhouses where he and Ryhs both lived, Elain’s gardens were the first indication that something wasn’t right. They appeared slightly neglected, as if she hadn’t been out to clear away the weeds that stubbornly kept returning. Dried dead leaves still clung to the stems of several flowers.

Suddenly, the door to Rhysand’s townhouse was flung open.

“You’re back!” Briar snatched his wrist and dragged him inside. “Oh, Azriel  _ just  _ left to go find you in Day.”

“What’s the matter?” Lucien demanded. 

“She’s gone!” Briar wailed.

“Who?” Though he suspected he already knew if the sensation of sinking in his stomach was any indication. 

“Elain!” Briar cried. “She’s gone!”

Lucien tried to take slow deep breaths even as the panic began to rise within him.

“Back up,” Lucien said. “What–what happened?”

“Elain went to the cabin for a few days,” Briar said, talking rapidly as she waved her hands wildly in front of her. “Rhys took her so she didn’t have to winnow more than once and they were going to check on her to see when she was ready to come home and—”

The front door opened and Rhys, Feyre, and Nesta bustled in. Their animated chatter came to an abrupt halt when they saw Lucien and Briar. From their expressions, Lucien thought they all already knew whatever Briar was in the middle of telling him.

“And?” Lucien pressed.

“He went to see if she was ready to come home,” Briar continued, slower and calmer though the muscle ticking in her jaw indicated it was an extreme effort not to start shouting again. “She wasn’t there. There was evidence of a struggle in the woods and he found this.” 

Briar held out her hand. In her palm rested the silver chain and pendant Anyln had given Elain. “It was hanging on a nail in the cabin door. Along with this note,” she added, retrieving a folded slip of paper from the table. Lucien snatched it and read quickly.

_ Return what is mine and I shall do the same. Refuse, and she becomes a permanent resident of my court. _

Lucien’s hand closed into a fist, the note crumpling between his fingers. The paper smoked and singed as white hot rage threatened to erupt from him. Though it was snuffed out by sheer unbridled panic. Images and sounds raced through his mind. Memories of what Beron had done to the first female Lucien gave his heart away to. To punish him for his disobedience. Fear of what he would do to—

The note fell to the floor as Lucien clutched his head in his hands. His breathing was coming too rapidly and too shallowly and within moments he couldn’t catch his breath. His chest tightened as he found himself gasping for air.

“No, no, no, no,” he repeated wildly, unsure if he was saying it aloud or if it was merely his mind screaming it at him. 

Hunched over, he gripped fistfuls of his hair in an attempt to reign in his mind, now running wild with all the possibilities of what Beron would have done to Elain. He doubled over as a wave of nausea swept over him even as his mind raged and roared that he had to get her back. Immediately. He tried standing but the room spun.

“It’s happening again,” he panted. “He took her. Just like he took Jesminda. And there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Oh, gods, he’ll ki—”

Lucien’s empty stomach roiled as he retched, still hunched over on the living room floor. A shadow hovered above him as soft warm hands tentatively reached for his.

“No,” Feyre declared, a slight tremor in her voice though when Lucien looked up at her, her eyes were firm and steadfast.

Rhys knelt and placed a hand on Lucien’s shoulder. “It’s different this time,” he said.

“How?” Lucien choked out.

“This time,” Rhys declared, “you’re not alone. You’ve got us. And we will do everything in our power to help you get her back.”

Lucien took several deep breaths. Feyre and Rhys backed up to give him room to stand though the moment he rose from the floor, the room spun again. He sank into the nearest armchair and covered his eyes with his hand. After the wave of dizziness passed, Lucien slowly stood. 

“I’m going to get her,” he announced.

“Lucien,” Feyre’s voice shook. “Wait,” She held up a pleading hand. “Just wait.”

“For what?!” Lucien snapped. “For him to chain her to the center of the courtyard and have her whipped? Not a fucking chance.”

“Lucien,” Rhys said steadily. “I cannot imagine what you’re going through. And if it was me in your position, I can’t say I’d be doing anything differently. But we can’t just go barging in without some kind of plan.”

“I don’t think you should go,” Feyre declared. “It’s impossible for you to think rationally. Let Az handle this. He can take Cassian and—”

“Feyre, with all due respect,” Lucien said icily, “stay out of this.”

“No! I understand you’re upset but use your head. When Rhys took me from Spring,  _ he  _ didn’t come charging in. He sent Mor because—”

“Rhys is High Lord of another court. He would have faced  _ serious  _ consequences for going to Spring and taking you from Tamlin.”

Feyre made a frustrated sound. “And you won’t face the same consequences from Beron?”

“Autumn was my home once. He can’t kill me on sight just for crossing into the borders.”

“You really think he won’t try anyway?” 

“I’m going. There is nothing you can say that will stop me from getting her back.”

The front door burst open again, a flurry of snow blowing into the foyer. Azriel was panting slightly and behind him stood—

“Helion?” Lucien said weakly. “Mother? What are you doing here?”

“Azriel arrived less than an hour after you left,” Anlyn said, her face pale. “Said it was imperative he speak to you immediately. We told him you’d already returned to Night.”

“Did he tell you what Beron has done?” Lucien asked.

“Yes,” Helion said, his jaw and fists both clenched.

Anlyn crossed the room to where Lucien stood. “My son,” she cried, cupping his cheek in her hand. “I am so,  _ so  _ sorry. This is all my fault. I never should have left.”

Lucien took a step backward and shook his head. “No, mother, none of this is your fault.”

“But it is,” she insisted. “This is blatant retaliation.”

“This is not your fault,” Lucien repeated firmly. “He is a monster.”

“A monster,” Helion said, “who has acted rashly. He will have to listen to reason and return Elain or else he risks open war with the rest of the courts. None of them will stand for this flagrant act of dishonor.”

“Rhys, Feyre,” Helion added, looking to his fellow High Lord and Lady. “I think Azriel is right and stealth is our best option. But we should probably be prepared if it does not go in our favor.”

War.

Helion was talking of declaring war on the Autumn Court. All over kidnapping Elain. Granted, Lucien would raze the world to naught but ash in order to get Elain back, but he could not expect the rest of Prythian to go to war on his behalf.

“Wait—” He began. 

“For what?” Helion countered. “I don’t wish for a civil war but Beron has gone unchecked for far too long. His behavior has become more brazen and it is high time he is reminded that even High Lords have laws they must abide by.”

Rhys exchanged a glance with Feyre and nodded.

“We agree with Helion,” Feyre said.

“We will send notice to the other courts,” Rhys said. “Appraising them of the situation and giving them the choice of how to respond. But I will make it clear that if Beron will not willingly return Elain to the Night Court, we  _ will  _ declare his refusal as an act of hostility.”

“Beron will not yield,” Lucien pronounced. “His pride is too great for him to surrender.”

“Then I suggest we write some letters,” Helion replied. “And send them with the fastest couriers you have at your disposal, Rhys.”

“There is one alternative no one has mentioned,” Anlyn offered. Six heads turned toward her. “If he will agree to return her, I will go back to Autumn.”

“Absolutely not,” Helion said as Lucien simultaneously replied, “Not a chance.”

Anlyn sighed with exasperation. “I wasn’t actually asking your permission.”

“Mother, don’t,” Lucien beseeched. “He probably wouldn’t even agree to it. And if he did—”

“If he did,” Helion said darkly, “and he laid a hand on you, I would end him myself.”

In the tense silence that followed Helion’s pronouncement, Azriel raised a scarred hand.

“I believe I can go in undetected,” Azriel said, “and retrieve her.”

“I’m going with you,” Lucien reiterated.

“And me,” Nesta added. 

Lucien and Feyre both spun around to gape at her. She had been so uncharacteristically silent he had forgotten she was there. She appeared haunted. Hollow. Lucien imagined his appearance mirrored his sister-in-law’s.

“Excuse me?” Feyre chirped. 

“I’m going with him,” she repeated. “I’m getting my sister back from that barbarian.”

“Nesta—” Lucien began carefully. 

“No.” Azriel’s voice was low and menacing, imbibed by the same shadows that curled over his shoulders and down to his scarred fingertips. 

Nesta’s eyebrows arched dangerously high. 

“Nesta, your heart is in the right place,” Azriel said gently. “But you’d go blasting in with all that rage and tenacity that even Cass can barely handle. Beron would know we were coming from miles away. If we’re getting her back, we’re going to have to get in without him knowing.”

“But—”

“I was just there barely two weeks ago,” Azriel continued. “I memorized the layout of the entire estate. And Lucien grew up there. If anyone knows any hidden assets of the estate, it’s him.”

Nesta glanced at each of them in turn. Lucien, Feyre, and Rhys appeared to accept Azriel’s pronouncement. Rhys’s jaw was set, his mouth a tight line, as he nodded.

“Well then,” he said, “Helion, Feyre, and I have some letters to write. Nesta?”

The eldest Archeron sister tilted her head in Rhys’s direction to indicate she was listening.

“Would you kindly appraise Amren of this situation when she returns from Summer? I’d like the two of you to continue cataloging information about the Whisperer so that once we retrieve Elain, we can be ready to tackle  _ that  _ hurdle.”

Nesta nodded curtly, seemingly grateful to have an assignment. They all knew Nesta didn’t do well with idle time. She was at her best when she had a task to work towards.

Rhys turned back to Helion. “You’re welcome to stay up at the House if you like.”

Helion glanced at Anlyn, who still stood beside Lucien, and nodded. “That would be appreciated, thank you.”

Azriel nudged Lucien. “Come on,” he said. “We need to talk.”

“Where?”

Azriel pondered a moment. “Your house? It’s quieter there.”

Lucien nodded idly and picked up Elain’s necklace from the floor, even though he didn’t remember how it got there. The chain was snapped… as if it had been yanked off. Briar had said Azriel found signs of a struggle in the woods.

“No,” he said. “The cabin.”

“The cabin?” Azriel repeated, uncertainty heavy in his voice.

“I need to see it.”

Azriel did not object as he followed Lucien out of the townhouse. The moment they were outside, Azriel placed a hand on Lucien’s shoulder. He’d been there already and knew the spot where Elain had been taken.

When the sounds and lights of the city were gone, replaced by snow-covered trees and silence, Lucien took in his surroundings. They were standing in a small clearing with little snow coverage, courtesy of the dense pine trees that provided a natural canopy.

He immediately noticed the broken branches. Waist-high as if someone snapped them while running carelessly. The footprints were harder to discern. They were at least a day old, if not more.

“How long ago was she taken?” Lucien asked.

“Best I can tell, no more than two days ago.”

“Two days,” Lucien murmured. Something was gnawing at the edge of his memory, but he couldn’t quite grab hold of it.

_ I know what you fear. _

“Piss off!” 

Azriel looked confused and affronted. “Pardon?”

“Not you,” Lucien growled and Azriel’s expression shifted immediately to one of grave understanding.

_ I know what you feaaaar. _

“No shit, you know what I fear,” Lucien spat. “Everyone knows because it’s fucking happened! He took her.”

_ I told you it would come to pass. But you did not listen…  _

Lucien kicked a loose stone and bit back the curse as pain surged up through his foot and leg.

_ If you had been paying attention, you would have realized the exact moment it happened. _

Lucien stilled as the feeling of icy cold dread poured over him. A moment of sheer unbridled panic that had not been his own.

“Oh, no.”

“What?” Azriel sharply whipped his head around.

“I am such godsdamned fool.”

“What is it?”

“I felt it,” Lucien said. “I felt it when they grabbed her.”

“What—through the bond?”

Lucien nodded gravely. “We still hadn’t spoken after arguing, so I doubt it was something she meant to send. But her fear was  _ so  _ powerful, I felt it all the way in Day.”

Lucien gripped a low-hanging tree branch to steady himself. He could already feel the panic rising again.

“This is my fault,” he croaked. 

“It is not,” Azriel said firmly.

“I felt her fear and I did  _ nothing.” _

“You’re not psychic, Lucien,” Azriel placed a hand on his shoulder.

“But she’s my  _ mate,”  _ Lucien protested. “I should have come the moment I felt it.”

Azriel’s eyes held the one thing Lucien couldn’t bear to see—sympathy.

“I just assumed it was another vision,” Lucien added miserably.

Azriel’s hand still rested on Lucien’s shoulder. He nudged him slightly and Lucien followed his wordless suggestion that they go inside.

The moment they entered the cabin, Lucien’s eyes drifted up to where Elain’s were painted on the wall. Feyre painted her smiling. When Lucien pointed that out one Solstice, Cassian had snorted.

“How do you know that? All she painted were eyes, not mouths.”

Lucien had leaned back on the sofa, his foot resting against the edge of the coffee table and an arm draped around Elain’s shoulders.

“She didn’t have to,” Lucien replied. “Look at the tiny little crinkles at the corner of her eyes. And how they’re slightly narrowed?” Even with a lowball glass of scotch in his free hand, he managed to point at Elain’s painted eyes. “See?”

“Umm, no,” Cassian answered. “I don’t see.”

“Why don’t you show us?” Mor crooned. 

Lucien’s mouth twisted into a wolfish smile as he leaned closer to Elain until the tip of her pointed ear grazed his cheek. He whispered against her honey golden hair and leaned back in time to see her reaction. Her bottom lip was drawn between her teeth, her eyes narrowed as her smile danced over her face. The corners of her eyes indeed had tiny crinkles from the pull of her smile. She elbowed him in his side as he chuckled.

“Okay, well now you have to tell us what you said to her,” Rhys said.

Both Lucien and Elain shook their heads.

“No fair!” Cass objected.

“Come on,” Feyre drawled. “What did you say?”

“Wouldn’t you love to know?” Lucien retorted as Elain kicked up her feet and nestled closer against him.

“Hey.”

Lucien blinked several times until the memory faded. He had completely forgotten Azriel was still there.

“You looked like you were a thousand miles away.”

“No… just remembering better days.”

Azriel surveyed the living room of the cabin. “A lot of those spent here.”

“And hopefully more when this whole mess is over,” Lucien said.

“Count on it,” Azriel replied.

Lucien finally took in the contents of the room. A book was lying open face down on the coffee table, a mug of now-cold tea beside it. 

It seemed whatever Elain was doing in the woods, she had planned to come back to the cabin and was intercepted.

“It looks like she should just walk back through the door at any minute,” he commented. “And there’s no evidence of a struggle in here.”

“Indeed,” Az agreed. “So my guess is they waited for her to come outside and tailed her into the woods where it would be less obvious to track down what happened.”

“If any of my brothers had anything to do with this…”

“Let’s get her back first,” Azriel said calmly. “Then we can figure out who specifically had a hand in it.”

“Where do we begin?” Lucien sat on the sofa, exactly in the same spot he’d been sitting that night several Solstices ago.

“We begin by pinpointing all the possible locations within the estate where he could be keeping her.” Azriel withdrew the map Eris provided during their meeting several weeks prior and spread it flat on the coffee table.

“Alright, then,” Lucien said, leaning forward to peer at the floorplan of his childhood home.


	28. Chapter 28

Elain didn’t even try to hide it when she rolled her eyes.

Nearly a week had passed since the dinner with Beron and so far, he had been true to his word that her meals would be served in her room. She supposed she ought to be glad she was out of that room for once but listening to him bemoan was enough to make her long for the solitude of the four-poster canopy bed and view of the forest from her window.

She hadn’t been completely isolated, at least. The same servant girl whose name Elain still did not know brought her all her meals. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were all brought in on a rolling cart. The girl would come back once more in the evenings, claiming to turn down Elain’s bed and change the linens, but Elain suspected it was to give her a bit of company. Together over the past week, they had at least been successful in cleaning the dust off everything in her room. 

For being Beron’s prisoner, she wasn’t being mistreated—a fact that somewhat surprised her. She’d expected Beron to be harsh and cruel but then again, she supposed if he threw her in a filthy dungeon, he would have more to answer for whenever she was finally released. _If_ she was released at all. Though if this was to be her life now, she longed once more for her mortality.

She jumped in alarm as Beron’s voice echoed off the high walls. “Archeron!”

Instinct made her want to correct him, but she realized that Vanserra was also _his_ surname… and she didn’t want anything connecting her to this monster. She understood now why Lucien was so loath to use his family name.

“Did you not hear me or am I just boring you?”

“A bit of both, honestly,” Elain answered sweetly.

“I said,” his teeth ground together, “who helped them take her?”

“I don’t know,” she replied with an unconcerned shrug.

“Oh, come now. I know my wife’s bastard son didn’t accomplish this all on his own.” Beron flicked a speck of dust off his shoulder. His next words were clipped and laced with pure venom. “He. Had. Help.”

Elain wanted to tell Beron that _he_ was the bastard, not Lucien. But getting Elain riled up was just what Beron wanted, so she maintained her expression of bored indifference. Truly, she had no idea who helped Lucien plan his mother’s escape—a fact she had told Beron several times already. Lucien had deliberately told her nothing of their plan, for this very reason. The others told Lucien he was being overly cautious, but he refused to tell Elain anything about their plan, saying if she was somehow ever questioned, she could honestly deny any foreknowledge of it.

“I know he had help,” Beron continued. “So, which one of my worthless sons do I now have to maim for giving him the inside aid he needed to steal my wife.”

“They didn’t steal her!” Elain spat, full of contempt. “She left you! She hated you and she left you.”

Beron moved faster than an adder. At the same moment, Elain snatched the bond as if it was a tangible rope she could hold in her hands and pulled as hard as she could—harder than she had ever tugged on it before. She had still been unsuccessful at reaching Lucien, but if Beron was about to kill her, she had to try at least one more time. The blow from the back of his hand to her cheek was so forceful, it knocked her to the floor. 

“You may have lived in impudent luxury in Rhysand’s court, you little tramp. But here you will learn respect. And when to hold your tongue.”

Elain’s face throbbed but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of showing pain. She rose from the floor, hiding the wince from her healing but still bruised ribs.

“I’m not telling you anything,” Elain sneered at him. “So either kill me or return me to my room.”

Beron raised his hand to strike her again when one of Lucien’s brothers burst into the room. Eris, if Elain’s memory served her correctly, though she had never met any of them in person.

“What?!” Beron roared.

“She’s back, father,” the flame-red haired fae announced, winded as if he had run all the way from the estate’s main gates. “Mother. She came back.”

_No._

The word repeated in Elain’s mind as dread pooled in her gut. Anlyn couldn’t have come back. If she had, it had all been for nothing. 

Beron seemed to forget she was even there. He turned to his son and snarled, “Bring her to me.”

Eris grimaced, as if he knew what fate awaited his mother when Beron got his hands on her. He noticed Elain standing off to the side of the dais where Beron’s throne rested. 

“Who—who is this?” He asked his father. 

“None of your concern,” Beron snipped. 

Eris took a step closer to her and Elain resisted the urge to scream at him to alert Lucien. To get help.

“Who is she?” Eris asked again, more forcefully. 

Beron huffed a sound of impatience. “Your bastard brother’s wife.”

“Mate,” Elain corrected, her head held high and a note of pride in her voice. Despite their recent troubles, she was and always would be proud to be Lucien’s mate.

“Whatever,” Beron said, waving his hand dismissively. 

Eris paled. “Father,” he stammered. “Please tell me you did not abduct her from the Night Court.”

Beron met his eldest son’s gaze and held it. Eris let out a long, dismayed groan. “Have you gone mad?” 

Elain suspected that Eris, being the eldest and heir, was the only one who could get away with speaking to Beron this way. Even so, his father’s temper looked as if it wasn’t far from reaching its boiling point. 

“Father, when Lucien finds out about this, he is going to—”

“Lucien,” Beron hissed the name as if it tasted foul, “is no concern of ours. If he is stupid enough to come here to reclaim her, the sentries and archers have orders to shoot him on sight.”

“No,” Elain gasped as her eyes welled. 

“Oh, yes,” Beron jeered. “He will learn there are consequences for taking what belongs to me.”

“What about Rhysand?” Eris challenged.

“This petty business is beneath Rhysand’s notice or concern,” Beron said with arrogant confidence. 

“Lucien is the official emissary to the Night Court, father. Lucien is Rhysand’s _friend._ Rhysand will absolutely involve himself in the retrieval of his emissary’s mate.”

“And so what if he does? Rhysand has no jurisdiction here,” Beron insisted. “Now bring my disobedient wife to me and take this,” he grabbed Elain by the arm and slung her around to Eris, “back to her room.”

“Which is where?” Eris sounded as if he was trying to control the urge to snap at his father.

Beron’s eyebrow arched conspiratorially. “Where else? In her beloved _mate’s_ old rooms.”

Eris gripped Elain’s arm tightly, but not hard enough to hurt. “Come on,” he said gruffly. 

Once they were well out of earshot of Beron or his sentries, Eris mumbled, “I’m going to find a way to get you home.”

“What?” Elain hissed. “How?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Eris made a show of gripping her wrist and dragging her down the hallway when a pair of guards passed them. When they neared the door to her room—Lucien’s old room—Eris released her. 

“Is this really Lucien’s old room?” She wondered.

“Yes,” Eris replied, pulling at the back of his neck. “I’ll try to find a way to contact him, though I daresay he already knows you’re here.”

“What does that mean?”

“Beron is arrogant. I am sure he left some indication that he took you. A note, probably.”

“A note?” Elain laughed hollowly. “Saying what, exactly? ‘Dear Lucien, I kidnapped your mate. Love, Beron?’”

“Essentially yes,” Eris replied. “But undoubtedly in a more sinister and aggressive tone.”

Elain pursed her lips and crossed her arms. “If you can find a way to contact him, tell him…” she took a deep breath and tried to calm her racing heart, “tell him not to come.”

“What?” Eris said sharply. “Why?”

“You heard Beron! Your guards are ordered to _kill_ him!”

“My brother is smarter than that. He’s not stupid enough to walk through the front gate.”

“But if he gets hurt—”

She stopped short when the sound of Beron roaring in anger echoed off the walls.

Eris looked slightly green. “I’ve got to get back before he has a chance to beat my mother to a pulp. I’ll bring her here when I can. Stay here.”

“Oh, damn,” Elain chided. “I was just about to head out for a walk.”

“I can see why my brother finds you so charming,” Eris replied dryly. 

  
**************************

Seated at a small bench in front of a vanity, Elain tenderly prodded her cheekbone, wincing loudly. A bruise had definitely started forming and she would be lucky if her entire eye didn’t blacken.

A commotion outside her door made her turn away from the mirror in time to see Anlyn standing in the door frame, Eris standing behind her. Elain scrambled off the bench toward her mother-in-law.

“Oh, goodmother, why did you come back?” Elain cried. “You were free.”

Anlyn raised her hand and gently stroked Elain’s unbruised cheek with the back of her fingers. “But you were not.”

Elain’s eyes burned as they welled with tears.

“I have to go, Mother,” Eris said. “I’m expected at the stables and I’m already late.”

“You can go, Eris,” Anlyn said quickly embracing her son before he closed the door behind him, the lock engaging with a small click. 

Anlyn turned back to Elain and took her hands in her own. “I’m so sorry my dear. My former husband is a sadist and a liar. I came back in the hope that my voluntary return would be enough to exchange for your freedom. Beron agreed, but…”

She brought a hand to her own side and winced, making Elain suspect that Anlyn was hiding wounds of her own.

“But he lied,” she continued. “He used an old magic to bind me to my promise to remain here in your place and then ordered me remanded to the dungeons before he promised to release you.”

Elain’s lip curled up in disgust. “Why does he even _have_ dungeons?”

“Because he truly is a monster. Eris interceded on my behalf, begging to allow me to return to my own rooms. Beron refused, but did concede to let me come here with you.”

Anlyn had been willing to sacrifice her freedom—so precious after being so recently reunited with her mate—in order for Elain to go free. But the former Lady of Autumn was now just as much of a prisoner as Elain was. 

“I hate him,” Elain hissed, wincing sharply as the pain in her cheek flared.

“I’m so sorry he struck you,” Anlyn fretted, her gaze lingering on Elain’s bruised face.

“It will heal,” Elain insisted. “I’m angrier at myself for ignoring the prophecy.”

“What prophecy?”

“The one that warned me of this,” Elain gestured to the miserable room they were confined to. “‘The dove caught in the hunter’s snare.’ My vision tried to warn me of my own fate but I was so preoccupied with the recurring visions of my inability to have a baby that I completely ignored it.”

Noticing Anlyn’s confused expression, Elain clarified, “Lucien calls me ‘dove.’”

“And Beron is widely known to be the fiercest hunter in all of Prythian,” Anlyn added. 

Both females were quiet for a moment before Elain voiced another concern that had been troubling her. 

“If only I could reach Lucien. I’ve tried repeatedly to call out to him through the bond but nothing. I’m afraid he’s closed me off...”

“Faebane,” Anlyn said sourly. “Beron probably had it added to your meals as soon as you arrived. It suppresses your power just enough to render you helpless. And unfortunately, it also affects communicating through mating bonds.”

Faebane. Elain had heard of it even if she had never seen or experienced it firsthand. It was what that priestess tramp had used to chain Lucien to a tree. Thankfully, Feyre had been there to stop her before she—

“So, that’s why you were never able to use your own bond to talk to Helion?” Elain guessed, trying not to think about Ianthe. 

A grave nod. “Beron is a brute. He would give me just enough to keep my power limited, unable to use it past the borders of this court.”

Elain wanted to scream from the injustice of it all. For all that Anlyn had suffered. For what they were both suffering now. 

“Lucien will come,” Anlyn declared. “He will come for us.”

Elain tried to conceal the look of doubt that passed over her face, but Anlyn had seen it. 

“You believe he would just leave you here?” Anlyn scoffed, giving Elain a reproachful look. “You are the center of his entire world. He will do anything to get you back. You have to know this.”

“I did,” Elain confessed, “until I screamed at him. We had a terrible fight and practically the last thing I said to him was that I didn’t care if my visions were driving us apart.” 

Too ashamed to look her mother-in-law in the eyes, Elain kept her gaze downward. Her eyes burned at the memory of that fight.

_And what then? You just don’t care?_

Of course she cared. But when the Whisperer was constantly telling her that Lucien resented her and would eventually abandon her because of her inability to give him children, she had begun to believe it. Months of the voice hissing inside her head that sooner or later, her mate would lose his patience. And during that fight, she’d seen it. Seen him snap when he was usually so good at keeping himself in check. So to protect her own heart from shattering, she had given a noncommittal shrug when he asked if she cared whether they were being torn apart. It had been easier to push him away than wait to reach that eventuality where he would leave her altogether. And suddenly, she felt the full gravity of what it would be to lose her mate forever—not from death, but from abandonment. From a willing voluntary severance of the mating bond. 

The grief of it crushed her. Collapsing back onto the vanity bench, her throat seized up and she felt as if she couldn’t get enough air. Her hands shook as she took rapid, uneven breaths. “I didn’t see him again before Beron’s thugs took me!” She wailed, burying her face in her hands. “Wh–what if he hates me? What if he got the note but doesn’t care that I’m Beron’s prisoner? What if I n-never see him again?” 

Elain rocked with sobs as the last question ripped from her, the thought alone too much to bear. She tensed when firm steady arms wrapped her in a tight embrace. Anlyn held her as she cried until her throat was raw and her eyes stung. 

“Listen to me,” Anlyn said, Elain still tucked into her mothering embrace. Elain had all but lost any memory of her own mother holding her like this. “My son _loves_ you,” her voice broke slightly. “I have seen the depth of it in his eyes when he speaks of you. He would turn the very world upside down to find you. That kind of love cannot be broken by one fight. That love is more infinite than the sea.”

She gently gripped Elain’s shoulders and leaned back so she could look into the younger female’s eyes. “Lucien _will_ come for you,” Anlyn promised. 

Elain suddenly went rigid, gripping the armrest of the bench and squeezing her eyes shut as an image, slightly out of focus, swirled into her vision. She saw Lucien, stripped down to nothing but his trousers and chained to a whipping post in the estate’s courtyard. She couldn’t see any of the others standing just outside the borders of her vision, though she could hear Beron’s voice and the sickening sound of a whip cracking. 

She remembered Lucien telling her this story, so vividly that the imagery from his narrative matched this vision almost perfectly. This must have been from when Beron forced Lucien to watch the murder of his first love, Jesminda. 

Elain grew queasy as she heard the whip crack again and again. She was trying to remember the details of the story he had told her over a decade ago in the House of Wind’s library. She didn’t remember him saying he had been whipped—only chained and forced to witness Jesminda’s death. 

The scene finally panned outward, giving Elain a wider view of the courtyard. Beron stood on a raised platform at the edge of the courtyard, ordering the lashings to continue. But a few yards from the whipping post where Lucien was chained stood another post. And tied to it, with a gag in her mouth and hot angry tears streaking her face was not Jesminda. It was Elain. 

Elain jerked back so violently, she fell from the vanity bench. 

“Elain!” Anlyn cried. “What’s the matter?”

She couldn’t tell her mate’s mother what she had just seen. It was abhorrent that she had already been forced to watch her son endure so much abuse. Elain wouldn’t subject her to more.

“Elain?”

She shook her head aggressively.

“Elain, please.” Anlyn’s voice was so small, so pleading. “Please tell me what you have seen.”

Perhaps if she told her, they could find a way to prevent that vision from becoming a reality.

“I just had a vision,” she explained. “I was chained in that courtyard. The one where Jesminda…” 

Anlyn’s eyes flashed with sorrow. 

“And Beron,” Elain continued hurriedly, “he was having Lucien whipped. And I was chained to the same post as Jesminda when she was...”

She couldn’t finish the thought, though she didn’t need to. Anlyn had been there that day. She knew what Jesminda’s fate had been. When Elain finally mustered the courage to look up at her mother-in-law, Anlyn’s flawless face was twisted with fear and pale as the dead.


	29. Chapter 29

When Lucien checked Rhysand’s box for incoming correspondence, he was pleased to see several letters bearing seals from multiple courts. It would appear that most received Helion and Rhys’s letters and had been prompt in responding. He collected them from the box at the Velaris postal guild and decided to go straight up to the House instead of stopping at home first. He barely spent any time in his townhouse anymore. Without Elain there, it felt too big. Too empty. He had been spending most of the past week up at the House anyway, since his mother and Helion were staying there.

Right when he stepped out of the postal guild office and onto the cobblestone street, Lucien jerked backward, as if a hook had been yanked at the base of his rib cage. A pull. The bond! Despite countless attempts to call out to her, he had heard nothing in return. Immediately, he tried to tug back, but found the same wall of adamant that had been there every other time he tried since Elain had been taken. Something was preventing him from reaching her. Something had to be wrong if she was suddenly able to reach him now. He wasted no time, making for the House at once. 

Once he winnowed to the edge of the ward's protection, Lucien walked the rest of the way up the stairs. He would have run, but those stairs were perilous. As he climbed, he reflected on the events of the past few days, mostly consumed with drafting letters and spending time at the bottom of the Library with Bryaxis. Mercifully, the creature didn't ask him to recount his argument with Elain yet. He couldn't bear thinking about the things they had said to one another. If they failed to bring her home, if those words said in hostility and anger were the last words they spoke to one another—

No. They would get her back. If he had to forfeit his own life, he would. But one way or another, they were getting her out of that hellhole.

He flipped through the letters in his hand, seeing which courts responded. He instantly recognized the seals from Summer and Dawn.

While drafting the letters, Lucien expressed curiosity about Helion’s extended absence from his own court and how it was being governed in his absence. Helion had merely shrugged, stating he had people to carry on the court’s daily affairs while he was away.

“This is more important in any case,” Helion had said. “I know the nature of what we are to one another is still very new and unfamiliar to both of us. But you are my son and by that reckoning, Elain is part of my family too. I will offer every resource I possess to help you get her back.”

Which was how Lucien wound up spending an entire day at the House, working with Rhys, Feyre, and Helion to draft letters to the four other courts appraising them of the situation. Staying busy was the only way to resist the persistent pull to go to Autumn and get her. But his friends were right... they had to do this the smart way and barging in without a contingency plan would do no one any good. Still, every day he remained in Night felt like another piece of his heart tearing away. It killed him to know she was there and he couldn't get to her. Beron had better hope she was unharmed when he finally did get to her. So for now, he struggled against his instincts and remained, helping Rhys and his father draft letters to the other High Lords.

Their first letter was to Summer since Rhys and Tarquin had mended their relationship and were on friendly terms again. As they drafted the letter, Feyre raised the question of explaining why Helion was involved.

“Tell them the truth,” Lucien said, leaning against a tall bookshelf. “If you two are ready to make that information public, that is,” he added with a glance at his parents.

Anlyn had watched Helion closely and Lucien could have sworn an expression of gratitude and pride crossed over her face when Helion said, “I have no shame in telling the world that I have found my mate. And that you are our son.”

“How do you think the other courts will react to _that_ news?” Feyre wondered aloud.

“I guess we’ll find out soon enough,” Lucien drawled.

“I think it will help rally them to our side, should it come to that,” Rhys offered. “Lucien is well-known in all seven courts, both from his time as Tamlin’s emissary and now as mine. He has established a rapport with all the other HIgh Lords, or at least their aids. Frankly, I can't think of anyone aside from Tamlin who has any bitterness or resentment for Lucien. If I had to guess, Tamlin will probably be the only one who doesn’t respond.”

Lucien didn’t disagree. Since the war with Hybern, Tamlin had ignored every piece of correspondence sent from the Night Court. Even Feyre had tried signing one of the letters to see if that would garner a response, but Tamlin had maintained his stony silence. From time to time, Lucien found himself worried about what was happening in Spring, though now he had entirely too much on his mind to concern himself with Tamlin’s inability to govern his own court.

The moment Lucien arrived up at the House, he knew something was wrong. Helion looked as if he was going to rage while Rhys sat at the table, head bowed against his closed fist.

“What’s the matter?” Lucien demanded.

Helion wordlessly thrust a letter at Lucien. He unfolded it and read quickly.

_My brightest Sunshine,_

_Please understand that I have to do this. If my return to Autumn in exchange for Elain’s release will prevent civil war, then it is my duty to go. Half of my heart is screaming at me to be selfish and stay, but the other half cannot willingly watch my son_ —our _son_ — _lose his mate forever. My only regret is that we had such little time to spend together. Know that I will love you eternally and the Mother willing, we shall see each other again in the next life._

_Your kardia,_

_Anlyn_

“No,” Lucien whispered. “What has she done?”

Lucien silently cursed his mother’s selflessness. Beron wouldn’t just exchange one for the other. His pride and arrogance were too great. Even if he got what he wanted by having Anlyn return, he would see it as a defeat to willingly surrender Elain. This complicated things greatly. Now, he and Azriel would have to retrieve both of them, for he would not leave his mother to suffer in silence any longer.

“Az and I will get them both back,” Lucien declared.

Helion, who had always seemed optimistic and positive, looked up at Lucien with uncertainty. “And if you can’t?”

Lucien held up the handful of letters he retrieved from the postal guild. “Then we’d better hope these have good news.”

Rhys straightened at the sight of the letters in Lucien’s hand. “How many?”

Lucien hadn’t even looked through them yet. He called out the seals of each court as he flipped through them. “Summer, Winter, Dawn, and—”

“Spring,” Rhys whispered as Lucien held up the ivory envelope sealed in bright green wax with the stamp of a thorny rose.

Lucien’s hand shook slightly as he dropped the rest of the letters to the table and broke the seal of the letter from Tamlin.

“What does it say?” Helion demanded.

“One word,” Lucien replied with a scoff, flipping the letter over to ensure there was nothing on the back. “‘Received.’”

“Prick,” Rhys muttered, reaching for one of the other letters. “Let’s hope the rest of the High Lords have something more useful to say.”

Lucien wished he could be surprised by Tamlin’s cold reply. Even so, when he saw the stamp of the court that he spent decades writing from, Lucien had dared to hope Tamlin would find some shred of compassion left in his heart of stone. For so long, Lucien had attributed Tamlin’s behavior change to Amarantha’s curse, but lately, he’d wondered if that had merely been a convenient excuse. One that he used to avoid looking deeper into their convoluted history together.

Idly, Lucien brought his hand up to his metallic eye, running his forefinger down the jagged scar left by Amarantha’s clawed fingernails. Surely, Tamlin had once been worth the brutal injury Lucien sustained to defend him? He honestly wasn’t even sure anymore. Though the more time that passed, the less certain Lucien was that any remnant of his former friend remained in the shell of that severely damaged and misguided High Lord.

“Lucien?”

Rhys’s voice pulled him from his musings. “What?”

“Thesan, Tarquin, and Kallias are with us,” Helion said gently.

“What, really?”

It was more than they could have hoped for. But as Lucien pointed out when they were drafting the letters, a mutual request from Night and Day allied together made a strong statement to the rest of Prythian. One that they hoped would be the first step to the courts being able to put aside their petty squabbles and rivalries and unite together.

“Thesan said he will be on stand-by and to alert him if we intend to march against Autumn,” Rhys reread from one of the letters. “And Tarquin is sending Varian to stay with Amren so that if he needs to mobilize his people, Varian can deliver word straight away.”

“And Kallias?”

“He sounded reluctant but willing. I suspect he would prefer not to get involved, but Viviane’s close friendship with Mor probably worked in our favor,” Rhys said with a grin.

“When do you and Azriel leave?” Helion asked Lucien.

“We had planned to go the day after tomorrow,” Lucien answered. “On Eris’s birthday. Beron always throws an obnoxious party to celebrate the birth of his eldest and heir.”

Rhys snorted. “He can’t be _that_ pretentious?”

“Oh, he is,” Lucien replied. “Meanwhile, he seemed to forget that the rest of his sons had birthdays at all. Still, it will be our best chance for Beron’s attention to be elsewhere.” He frowned and pulled at the back of his neck. “Though I’ll need to appraise Az of the update situation and we may need to make some alterations.”

“Oh, good, you’re already here,” Amren said, dropping into a chair beside Rhys.

“Good evening to you too, Amren,” Lucien called down the table.

“Shut it, fox boy.” She heaved a thick book from the bag on her shoulder onto the table. “I’ve found something.”

Rhys’s attention shifted entirely to his second. “About the Whisperer?”

“Yes,” she replied, opening the book to a page she’d marked. “In this one, I found an account from the first High Lord of Night. It appears he stumbled upon the cave Bryaxis mentioned and returned half-mad. Most of his narrative doesn’t make sense, but there are bits and pieces that might be helpful. And in one of the books Lucien brought from Day,” she added, “there’s an obscure poem that describes a creature that can only be the Whisperer.”

“Does it say how to destroy it?”

“Not quite,” Amren replied. “But it does say that its tomb was made from the same material as the Cauldron. And only that can contain it.”

Rhys was thrumming his fingers against the table.

“What?” Lucien asked. He knew that look. The look that meant Rhys was planning something. 

“Any opposition to moving family dinner up to tonight?” Rhys wondered. “We have a lot to discuss it seems. And we might as well get everyone together to hear it all at once.”

Since the House staff had not been prepared to cook the usual weekly family dinner, Rhys instructed each person to bring something for the dinner table when they arrived. As a result, half an hour later the table was laden with a wide assortment of dishes as everyone took seats around the table.

Helion gave a sidelong glance at Rhys, who took up a seat between Amren and Cassian.

“He’s very informal,” Lucien offered in explanation. “You get used to it.”

Helion stroked his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “I like it,” he said, foregoing the chair at the end of the table for one beside Lucien. Mor, Feyre, Briar, and Nesta claimed whatever seats were still empty and Amren began recounting everything she’d discovered from her research. Aside from Elain, only Aridea was absent, having elected to babysit Suri for the evening.

Azriel arrived late though Rhys didn’t ask where he’d been, leading Lucien to guess that wherever the Shadowsinger had been, Rhys already knew. Azriel settled into the other seat beside Lucien.

“We have a complication,” Lucien muttered to him.

“I know.”

“What, how do you know already? I only just found out barely an hour ago.”

“I was in Autumn.”

Lucien dropped his fork, causing Amren to look up sharply at him, glaring at the interruption. She swept her hair out of her eyes and continued talking.

“What do you mean, you were in Autumn?” Lucien hissed quietly.

“I went to see if I could determine where Elain was being kept.”

Azriel was silent as he took a bite of baked chicken.

“And?”

“And I saw your mother,” Az continued. “She was being escorted to a room on the second floor of the estate. Northwestern side of the manor.”

Lucien paused as he tried to remember the layout of the house. “Northwestern side… Did you count the windows?”

Azriel gave him a patronizing look. “Of course I did. Do you think me an amateur?”

Despite himself, Lucien chuckled.

“Third window from the western wall,” Az said.

“Cauldron boil me,” Lucien muttered. “That’s my room.”

Azriel’s eyebrows rose.

“Well,” Lucien clarified, “at least it was a long time ago.”

“That makes it easier, then.”

“So, this doesn’t alter our original plan then?” Lucien asked.

“No, I think we can still make it work.”

The sound of Rhys clearing his throat caused both of them to look up. “Something you’d like to share with the rest of us?”

Lucien imagined he looked as sheepish as Azriel did. “Just making sure our plan for extraction wasn’t changing.”

Rhys nodded. “Well, if that’s sorted, Amren believes she knows where we need to go to find the Whisperer’s bastille.”

“In short,” Amren said, pointing at nothing in particular with her fork, “some of us are going to have to find this lake below Under the Mountain and search the area for more information on how to destroy or cage the thing.”

“More information?” Cassian balked. “So, we don’t even know how to get rid of it but we’re going down there anyway?”

“Yes,” Amren replied harshly. “More than likely, we will have to make two separate trips. One to learn more about what we’re dealing with and two to actually confront it. There’s just not enough information above ground to make a solid plan of action. And we have done a fairly thorough search of all the resources Prythian has to offer.”

No one had any argument to that since it was undeniable they had searched extensively.

“So,” Nesta wondered. “Who’s going?”

“I’ve been giving that a lot of thought,” Amren replied. “Obviously, I’ll have to go.”

Again, no one raised an argument. It was practically imperative that Amren go, since the being they were seeking to destroy appeared to be older than Prythian itself and she was the only creature in their circle that was also older than their world. Amren could read languages that were so ancient, the knowledge to speak them aloud had been lost. If there were any carvings or writing down in that cave, it was highly likely they would not be in a language anyone from Prythian would understand.

“We’re also going to need someone who has been Under the Mountain,” Amren announced with a frown.

Lucien’s stomach somersaulted unpleasantly. Only three of them had ever been Under the Mountain—four if they included Helion. But Helion had only spent a few months there. The same could be said for Feyre and Lucien. The only one who was likely to have the most thorough knowledge of that dreadful place was—

“Rhys,” Feyre whispered softly. “No.”

“It makes the most logical sense,” Rhys replied, though he didn’t even attempt to hide the trepidation in his eyes. To the rest of the world, he was cold, hard, and cruel. But to the people around this table—his Inner Circle—Rhys bared his true soul. Returning to Under the Mountain terrified him. But he would do it. For the sake of Prythian and Velaris and his family, he would do it. He and Feyre seemed to be having a private discussion through their bond and after a few moments, Rhys looked up to the rest of the table. 

"Feyre will obviously look after things here while Amren and I are gone."

"And if you're willing, Mor," Feyre added, "I'd ask you to be my second."

Seeming to know that her cousin needed some uplifting, she cocked her head and smirked. “I suppose that means no wild parties?”

“I myself am something of a professional in that subject,” Helion supplied, giving Rhys a wicked grin.

“Keep your grabby hands away from my good booze,” Rhys chortled at Mor. “And you,” he added to Helion, “better not do anything your _mate_ would be displeased about when Lucien and Az bring her back.”

Helion raised his hands in defeat. Lucien shook his head incredulously. This was one of the many reasons he loved this dysfunctional family. They were discussing such serious business and could still find it in themselves to smile and laugh.

“I’m going with you,” Cassian announced.

“To Autumn?” Azriel puzzled.

“No. With Rhys.”

“Cass,” Rhys said. “You’re the general of my armies. I need you here in case, gods forbid, we have to mobilize against Beron.”

“Nesta can handle that,” Cassian said with a hint of pride.

“I’m sorry, what?” Feyre choked on her wine.

“Our legions know and recognize Nesta’s authority as equal to mine,” Cassian explained.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Lucien mumbled. “The Viper commanding the Illyrians. That’s a sight I'd be fascinated to see, though I hope I never have to.”

Nesta remained silent, though Lucien noticed her holding her head a bit higher.

The table was quiet for a long moment until finally, a quiet voice from the other end of the table broke the silence.

“I’m going too,” Briar said.

“No,” Azriel replied immediately. “Absolutely not.”

“Nesta can command armies,” Briar countered. “So surely I can go on a quest to an underground cave.”

“Briar,” Rhys beseeched gently, “Nesta has been training in combat with Cassian for the better part of a decade.”

“She’s also High Fae,” Azriel added. “She has naturally existing powers that make her stronger. Her senses are heightened and she can withstand more than a mortal body can.”

“And yet,” Briar countered, “I’m the only one aside from Lucien and Az who has _heard_ the Whisperer. How do you plan to find something you cannot see if none of you have heard it?”

Azriel opened his mouth to argue but didn’t seem to be able to form an objection. Amren clicked her tongue and smiled. “You’ve certainly got spunk, girl. I’ll give you that.”

“Rhys,” Azriel pleaded.

“I understand your concerns, Az, but she’s not wrong. None of us have heard it and we may very well need her.”

“But… she’s human,” Az objected weakly.

“So was I when I first went down there,” Feyre offered. “But I managed to scrape through… with a little help.”

She winked at Lucien. Indeed he had helped her during her first task… and paid dearly for it. Still, he would do it again.

“I think it’s good that a team of you are going,” she went on. “While I was down there, I had help from Rhys and Lucien. Anlyn too. Each one of them helped in a different way and I would not have succeeded without them.”

“If I remember Rhys’s story correctly,” Az protested, “you also _died_ down there. And all the High Lords won’t be there to bring Briar back if something happens to her.”

“We will never let her out of our sight,” Cassian promised.

Seeming to have no arguments left, Azriel folded his hands in front of him, yielding.

“So... when do we leave?” Cass asked, reaching for his third dinner roll.

“Immediately,” Amren answered. “Tomorrow if possible.”

Rhys inhaled a sip of wine. “Tomorrow?”

“We have no idea what we will find down there,” Amren reminded them. “We need to be swift in case there are things we have to hunt down or solve in order to vanquish this whisperer.”

Feyre sighed. “Well, you’re not wrong.”

“Alright then,” Rhys said. “It’s all happening tomorrow.”

The remainder of their dinner passed uneventfully. As the evening drew to a close, Lucien realized with a pang that it was the last time in the gods only knew how long before they would all be seated together again. After dinner ended and half their group left to return to their respective homes, Lucien nearly leaped out of his skin when Nuala drifted out of the dining room wall.

“Cauldron boil me! Nuala, you scared me half to death.”

“I would have thought you’d be used to this by now,” Rhys chuckled.

“Obviously not,” Lucien said clutching his chest.

“Oh, forgive me,” Nuala giggled softly, making Lucien believe her apology was less than genuine, though she sobered immediately as she turned to Rhys. “There is a visitor to see you.”

“Where? The townhouse?” Rhys frowned.

Lucien glanced at the clock and understood Rhysand’s confusion. It was nearly ten in the evening and everyone who would stop by unannounced had been here all evening. It was too late in the day for any of the Palace governors to drop by.

“No, sir,” Nuala replied with a tiny shake of her head. “The manor above the Hewn City.”

Rhys exchanged an uneasy glance with Lucien.

“Cass and Az have already left,” Lucien said. “Should I call them back?”

“No,” Rhys replied slowly, “you and I can greet this mystery visitor.”

“He actually is asking for Lucien specifically,” Nuala explained. “But Cerridwen informed him you would be advised first.”

“Thank you, Nuala,” Rhys said.

Lucien was trying to think of who could possibly be visiting asking for him… and Rhys. Perhaps it was Eris. Or Vesstan. The manor atop the Hewn City was where they’d met with Lucien’s brothers, so it would make logical sense for them to return to that place if they were seeking a meeting. And given the recent event of Anlyn returning, it would also make sense that they wouldn’t want to wait for the time it would take to send a cryptic letter. It had to be one, or both, of his brothers, Lucien decided as he and Rhys passed the wards of the House and winnowed to the Court of Nightmares. There was no one else it could possibly be.

When they arrived at the manor house, Cerridwen advised Rhys that their guest was in the sitting room, the same room they’d met with Eris and Vesstan. By the time Rhys pushed open the door, Lucien had all but convinced himself he would see at least one of his brothers on the other side of the door. But the High Fae who turned at the sound of the door creaking open was not Eris. Or Vesstan. It was the last person Lucien would have ever expected to see in the Night Court. Lucien didn’t try to hide his surprise as he uttered the name of the High Lord standing before him.

“Tamlin.”


	30. Chapter 30

Elain pushed her fork around her plate without interest. The food was delicious, but knowing Beron had been lacing every single one of her meals with faebane made her less inclined to eat until she was full. Instead, she only ate enough to satiate her until her next meal. She would often skip lunch in the hope that she might be able to summon a shred of a connection to the mating bond, but every effort had been in vain.

She wished she at least had Anlyn to talk to, but Beron required her presence every night at dinner. Not that Elain could understand why—it wasn’t as if they actually talked. Every night when she would return to their room, she would tell Elain that she refused to speak to Beron or answer any of his questions. 

The door creaked open, causing Elain to sit up a bit straighter, but her shoulders slumped when she realized it was only the servants coming to take her dishes from dinner. Though at the sight of the servant girl she had met her first day here, Elain managed a smile.

“It’s you,” she said warmly. “I hadn’t seen you since—”

“Relleah?”

The servant whipped around to the sound of Anlyn’s voice. The Lady of Autumn stood in the doorway, staring at the girl with warm, welcoming eyes.

“My lady?” The servant’s voice quivered.

The other servants stopped what they were doing and all turned to stare.

“Out!” Relleah ordered abruptly. The meek, terrified girl Elain met on her first day here had vanished, replaced by an assertive and direct female. “All of you, out!”

Elain was surprised to see the remaining servants abandon their tasks instantly and file out the door. When the last one was gone and Anlyn was back inside the room, Relleah checked both ends of the hall before closing the doors behind her.

“My lady,” Relleah said again, her voice thick with emotion. “Why have you come back? You were finally free of him.”

Elain sat at the edge of the bed watching with rapt interest. Anlyn unbuslted the train of her dress and sat at the vanity, removing the pins that held her hair in place.

“Relleah,” she explained for Elain’s benefit, “was my ladies maid and is head of the house staff. She helped Eris and Vesstan orchestrate my departure.”

“And you came back,” Relleah wailed, dropping down onto the vanity bench beside Anlyn. “Why?”

“I had to,” Anlyn simply said.

 _“Why?”_ Relleah asked again, defiance dancing in her eyes.

“For her,” Anlyn replied, meeting Elain’s eyes and waving her over.

Elain rose from the bed and crossed the room, sitting on the opposite side of Anlyn. There was hardly room on the bench for all three of them, but Anlyn simply put an arm around Elain and squeezed her. “My son’s mate.”

Relleah shot to her feet, staring at Elain. Despite having served her three meals per day and coming almost every evening to help Elain clean, Relleah looked at her differently all of a sudden. Warily, almost. “Which son?”

Elain could have sworn Anlyn’s eyes danced with mischievous delight as she answered. “Lucien.”

There was no mistaking the scarlet blush that crept up Relleah’s neck and into her cheeks. “Cauldron boil me,” she muttered.

“Okay, what is that?” Elain wondered. “Some Autumn Court expression? Lucien says that all the time.”

Anlyn tipped her head back and laughed. Both Elain and Relleah looked at the Lady of Autumn with no small amounts of indignation, which only made her laugh harder.

“I’m sorry, girls. It’s just… The odds of you two being in the same room are…”

“Inconceivable?” Relleah supplied.

“Quite,” Anlyn agreed, still clutching her side from laughing. “When they were children, I used to tell them if they misbehaved, they would be thrown into the boiling Cauldron.”

“That’s terrifying!” Elain objected.

“Not for them, it seemed. They turned it into a joke. Any time I warned or scolded them about anything, they would say—”

“I guess the Cauldron will just have to boil me,” Relleah finished in a playfully mocking voice.

“How did you know Lucien?” Elain asked. “Were you in school together?” Her first thought was that Relleah was some long-lost sister of Lucien’s. She would have believed that Beron would forbid a daughter to be raised as nobility, forcing her to work as a servant instead. But there had been no mistaking the blush that stained Relleah’s cheeks. A sister wouldn’t have that kind of reaction.

“Umm,” Relleah faltered. “Not quite.” She looked to Anlyn for help.

“Let me get out of this garish dress and I’ll explain.”

While Anlyn disappeared to the closet to change, Elain tapped her foot with nervous energy, trying to avoid the way Relleah kept glancing at her. Sizing her up.

She had no idea what kind of past this girl and Lucien had and if they had ever been romantic, Elain wasn’t sure she wanted a full story.

She wasn’t stupid. She knew Lucien had been with other females. She knew of his past with Jesminda and she knew there had been others. She just didn’t want to hear details about any of them.

She knew Lucien loved her. Or—she knew he _had._ Before everything had gone to hell. Despite everything, she believed Lucien still loved her. Anlyn put her mind a bit more at ease two nights ago when she told Elain about how Lucien reacted to finding out she’d been abducted.

Yes, he still loved her. She knew it deep within her heart. But she was extremely curious to find out how this girl fit into the puzzle of Lucien’s past… and possibly, their future.

What seemed like a lifetime later, Anlyn emerged from the closet in a much more comfortable-looking nightdress and motioned for the two ladies to join her. Elain and Relleah followed Anlyn into the sitting room attached to the bedroom. 

Elain sank into an armchair while Anlyn sprawled onto a chaise, more informal than Elain had ever seen her before. Relleah went straight to the bookshelf opposite the fireplace, slid a few books out of the way, and retrieved an old, dusty bottle.

“What?” She said with a shrug as Anlyn watched her with a bemused expression. “No one ever comes in here, so it’s the perfect place to stash things. And sometimes, a girl just needs a stiff drink after listening to Beron bitch and moan all day.”

“I can attest to that,” Anlyn muttered. 

Relleah pulled the cork from the bottle with her teeth and made herself comfortable.

“Now,” Anlyn began, “I suppose I need to go back to the beginning.” Glancing at Relleah, she added, “Would you like to tell your story? Or would you prefer I do it?”

“You told stories the best when we were children,” Relleah said.

One of Elain’s eyebrows arched. Children? She could have sworn Anlyn said the girl was the head of housekeeping. She just assumed Lucien had engaged in some fleeting adolescent romance with Relleah. It was just what she would have expected from her beloved mate. Impish, defiant Lucien running around with a servant instead of a noble lady. Probably just to get under Beron’s skin.

“Very well,” Anlyn said. “Relleah’s mother Selyne was a dear friend of mine. We began as school friends. Selyne’s father was a regional governor like mine, but he made some poor decisions. Decisions that were treasonous to the laws of Prythian. As punishment, he was stripped of his titles and lands and the only work he could find was working as a farrier for the High Lord.”

“Which most people acted like he should have been grateful,” Relleah groused. “But it was more of an insult than anything.”

Elain could understand well enough. When her own father lost their money and they were forced to live in poverty, it was more humiliating because they still lived in the village where everyone had known them. It would have been far less of a sting to their pride if they had been able to go somewhere far away where no one had ever heard of them. They would have still been poor but would have avoided the gossip that followed them every time she and her sisters went into the markets.

“Selyne’s father worked in the stables and his children were assigned jobs elsewhere on the estate,” Anlyn continued. “Selyne and her daughter were sent to work under the head housekeeper. Selyne and I remained friends until her death, much to Beron’s chagrin. Once I was wed to the High Lord, I suppose he expected me to renounce the friendships I had with people he perceived as commoners.”

“After my mother died,” Relleah offered, “ Beron told Lady Anlyn to send me to my grandfather’s old province where I could be ‘their problem.’”

“I, err… respectfully declined,” Anlyn said with a smirk.

“‘Respectfully,’” Relleah snorted. “Sure.”

Elain leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand, elbow propped on her knee, engrossed in Anlyn’s story.

“Relleah was only six when her mother passed. I charged our head housekeeper at the time, a woodland faerie named Charys, with looking after Relleah and teaching her how to run this house. Beron may be High Lord of this court, but he has absolutely no involvement in the day-to-day upkeep of this estate. The entire household is run by the Housekeeping staff. I instructed Charys to train Relleah as her successor and she far exceeded my expectations.”

Elain noticed a flash of pride in Relleah’s eyes. Just from what little she knew about her, Elain could tell Relleah thought highly of Anlyn and probably saw her as a surrogate mother figure.

“Lucien and Relleah are only four years apart in age,” Anlyn explained. So the two of them played together quite frequently, along with Taelith.”

Taelith.

Elain had heard that name once before, when Lucien told her the detailed account of his escape from Autumn to Spring. He was the brother that Lucien—

“Anyway,” Anlyn said huskily, clearing her throat and blinking rapidly, “Relleah and Lucien grew up together and… well…” She trailed off, her mouth flattening into a tight line as Relleah’s face blushed again. The girl’s only reply was to tip the bottle upside down and chug the rest of its contents.

“Relleah was quite taken with Lucien when they were younger,” Anlyn whispered to Elain. Relleah only groaned, the tips of her ears now pink. 

“Thankfully,” Relleah said, rising from her chair and returning to the bookshelf, “I was young… and too gutless to ever do anything about it. We were foolish children. And Lucien always regarded me as more of a sister anyway.”

She shuffled books from one spot to another until she found two more bottles hidden behind the volumes. She returned to the hearth and handed one to Elain.

“You look like a white wine kind of lady,” Relleah noted.

Elain smirked as she accepted the bottle. “Actually, I’m partial to a whiskey cavalry myself, but I won’t refuse white wine if it’s offered.”

“You—you like whiskey cavalries?” There was an obvious note of surprise in Relleah’s voice as she regarded Elain with a surprised but appraising look. Elain was used to it. She got the same look from the waitresses and barkeeps in Velaris. Apparently, she looked so delicate and innocent that ordering a drink with bourbon and cointreau seemed to always catch them off guard. “Well then, it’s not so surprising that the Mother chose you for his mate.”

Pride and guilt warred for the forefront of Elain’s emotions. More than anything, she was proud—and honored—to be Lucien’s mate. To be the one person in not only the world but the entire history of the world to be chosen as his mate. The fae lived for centuries and she could have easily lived and died without ever having met him. She wondered if the Mother somehow had a hand in fate, arranging it so that mates crossed paths in one way or another. 

Unfortunately, whenever her mind strayed to her mate now, a pang of guilt struck her heart. Did he even wish to still be her mate? She had been so terribly unfair to him and taken him for granted. She was determined not to let the Whisperer win. She had to find a way to earn back his forgiveness because whether or not she was ever able to give him a child, she didn’t want to lose him. She only hated that it took her being abducted and held hostage by Beron for her to finally realize it.

She popped the cork from the bottle and took a long, unladylike swig. She caught Anlyn watching her as she set the bottle down, using the hem of her sleeve to wipe the corner of her mouth.

“You will see him again,” Anlyn avowed softly. “I promise.”

Elain blinked back sudden hot tears. “I just hope it’s not here.”

From the glance she shared with her mother-in-law, she knew Anlyn understood her meaning. Elain was dreading her most recent vision. Of Lucien on that whipping post.

She furiously wiped at her eyes and took a shuddering breath. The vision was still replaying in her mind and though she knew it would help to stop thinking about Lucien, ever since she was brought here, he was all she _could_ think about. She took another swig from the wine bottle, remembering the first time she tried one of Lucien’s drinks.

“I’ll admit, when I was human, I didn’t drink _anything_ besides white wine and occasionally champagne. Then one night, I was irrationally angry when a nor'easter swept through and practically destroyed half my garden. I was so mad, I stormed into the house and grabbed Lucien’s drink and downed it. I’ll never forget the face he made,” Elain grinned. “I think he expected me not to like it and he was just waiting. Waiting for me to react. He definitely wasn’t expecting me to ask for another.”

Anlyn and Relleah both laughed along with Elain as she mimicked the expression Lucien had that night. He truly had been shocked, not to see her flustered and upset about her garden—she may have had a reputation for being quiet and demure around most people, but Lucien was one of the few who knew her. Truly knew her. She could be fiery and passionate and expressive. It was one of the countless reasons she loved him. Lucien saw every side of her and none of it made him love her any less.

Gods, she missed him. She had been such a fool to push him away. She prayed every day she would get the chance to tell him how sorry she was.

“Hold on,” Relleah said. “Let’s go back to that part about when you were _human?”_

Elain chuckled. “Oh, now _that’s_ a story.”

Relleah glanced at the clock on the mantle. “I’ve got nothing but time if you feel like telling it.”

“How much wine do you have stashed back there?” Elain gestured to the bookshelves.

Relleah gave her a conspiratorial grin. “More than Beron would be pleased to know about.”

Elain returned her grin. “Good. We’ll need at least two.”

As Elain told her story, she was surprised to find how easy it was to talk to Relleah. The girl appeared fascinated, asking for more details about things Elain found trivial from the mortal world.

“I’m sorry,” Relleah said sheepishly after interrupting Elain for the fourth time. “You’re just the only person I’ve ever met who was human. That had to have been such a huge adjustment.”

Elain nodded, continuing her narrative. When she finally reached part involving the night she was Made, she no longer felt any lingering apprehension or fear. The memory of being forced into the Cauldron was still traumatic, but she looked back on that night as a whole with a positive lens. Once, she would have never been able to talk about it so openly, but now, she recognized it as a blessing. It was the night she had been Made High Fae. The night she met Lucien. The night her life changed for the better… even if it took her a while to understand that.

“For so long after that night, I cursed the Cauldron. I cursed the king of Hybern and Ianthe and Tamlin… even Lucien,” she admitted sheepishly. “Nesta and I both believed they all had a hand in our kidnapping. We didn’t find out until later that Lucien and Tamlin had no idea we were involved. I’ll admit I regret how much time I spent mourning the life I thought I wanted. I had no idea how much my life truly changed that night.”

She stared past Relleah and Anlyn, watching the logs on the fire as they crackled and snapped, sending burning embers to the floor of the fireplace. She thought about how Lucien could bring a fire to life with the snap of his fingers and all the cold winter nights he’d done just that as they sat curled together in an oversized armchair in their room.

Once again, she prayed to the Mother to let her see him again. Even if only for a moment, so she could tell him how much she loved him. How sorry she was.

“I didn’t know you were his mate when you were brought here,” Relleah muttered. “Beron has no idea what he has unleashed, does he?”

“If he doesn’t,” Elain said defiantly, “he will certainly find out soon.”

The three females were silent for a long moment, seemingly transfixed by the crackling of the logs in the fireplace.

“So…” Relleah began tentatively.

“So?” Anlyn pressed her to continue.

“What about Jesminda?”

“Jesminda,” Anlyn murmured, “was not his mate as he assumed.”

“He was so sure it was her… That must have come as such a shock,” Relleah mused with a twinge of horrified awe.

“It was actually the first thing he said to me... ‘You’re my mate.’ Like I was supposed to know what that meant. When we got to Velaris, Nesta was raging for about a hundred different reasons, but that was one of them. I remember her fuming about how he practically screamed it at me. But he didn’t… he whispered it. Like he was shocked. Shocked and terrified.

“When we were back in Velaris, before Lucien came with Feyre from the Spring Court, I was… not entirely myself. I refused to see anyone, sent away all my food. I was a shell by the time Lucien came to the Night Court. But before that, I had moments where I would hear his voice in my head. ‘You’re my mate.’ Over and over again. And then there would be this sensation like a hook jerking at the base of my ribs, pulling me toward something I couldn’t see. I was so consumed with undoing what had been done to me and wishing to go home that I didn’t give the bond a second thought. Never in my life have I been more grateful for a wish  _ not _ to come true.”

Elain stood from her chair and stretched. She hadn’t told anyone aside from Lucien about those initial days in Velaris. About feeling the bond but not even knowing what it was or what to do with it. But for whatever reason, she felt like she could trust Relleah. She returned to her chair, tucking her feet underneath her.

“So, Relleah,” Elain said.

“You can call me Relle.”

Elain smiled. She could see herself becoming friends with this girl, though she wasn’t entirely sure how the logistics of that would work out. She never wanted to return to this court once she was free of it, but she would admit it had its rare jewels and Relleah was one of them. 

“Okay then… Relle. Tell me about when you and Lucien were children.”

“Oh, Cauldron,” Relleah chuckled. “What do you want to know?”

Elain shrugged, truly unsure what kind of stories she wanted to hear. Lucien almost never spoke of his childhood except in passing.

“How about the time you and Lucien learned to use glamours but conveniently neglected to tell me about it?” Anlyn mused with a grin.

“Oh my gods, your  _ face  _ when you finally found us!” Relleah shrieked. She turned to Elain and said, “Lady Anlyn had been teaching us how to master the glamour and we spent a lot of time practicing after hours. One afternoon, we led Anlyn all over the estate and the grounds looking for us. We would let her catch a glimpse of one of us or call out to her from our hiding place but because of the glamour she couldn’t see us. It drove her mad!”

The three females laughed and continued sharing stories long into the evening until the logs in the fireplace were nothing more than smoldering ash. Finally, when Elain’s eyelids grew so heavy she couldn’t keep them open and her head lolled to the side, Anlyn decided they all should get to bed.

“Ever the mother,” Relleah snickered quietly out of the corner of her mouth.

“So, you’re the head of all the housekeepers?” Elain asked with a yawn.

“Yes.”

“Then why were you waiting on me like a regular servant?”

Relleah sighed. “Beron is cruel. I watched him mistreat my lady for centuries and could do nothing to stop it. I didn’t know who you were, but as soon as word spread through the estate that Beron was holding a young female hostage, I was going to do everything in my limited power to ensure you weren’t harmed.”

“Oh,” Elain wasn’t sure how to respond. “Well… thank you.”

“And now that I know who you are… Lucien is one of my oldest friends. I will do whatever I can to see you safely out of this miserable place.”

Relleah stood and stretched, yawning deeply. “I suppose I _should_ get to bed. There will be hell to pay if I don’t have the linens ready for Eris’s grand soiree tomorrow.”

Elain stood as well, feeling a strange camaraderie with this female she had only just met. Relleah held her hand out to shake Elain’s but Elain wrapped her arms around the girl instead, embracing her tightly. When they broke apart, Relleah smiled ruefully.

“Tell Lucien hello from Relle when you see him again.”

“Or you could come with us,” Elain suggested. “And tell him yourself.”

Relleah shook her head sadly. “My place has always been here. Besides, I have Er—”

Elain’s head shot up quickly but Relleah quickly said, “Errands. Lots of errands that I’m responsible for taking care of.”

Elain pretended not to see the blush that once more crept up the housekeeper’s neck. She picked up the fireplace poker and prodded the smoldering ash without conviction, just to appear busy to allow Anlyn and Relleah a moment of perceived privacy. No matter how much camaraderie Elain felt with Relle, she  _ had  _ only just truly met her tonight. Anlyn had known her, raised her, since she was a child. From the corner of her eye, Elain saw them share a tight embrace.

“We shall see,” Anlyn replied vaguely.

She still seemed intent to stay even after Beron broke his word, but Elain had no intention of letting her mother-in-law remain in this dreadful place. She believed Lucien _would_ come for her but she wasn’t leaving without Anlyn… and perhaps Relle too.

When Relleah was gone, Elain studied the bookshelves and all the spots the housekeeper had hidden bottles of wine. These had been Lucien’s rooms once… and out of the entire estate, this was where Relleah secretly came to escape the bleakness of her reality.

“He’s never mentioned her,” she murmured.

Anlyn reached for Elain’s hand and squeezed it softly. “He loves you,” she assured her.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” Elain replied. And she didn’t. There was not a single part of her that doubted his love for her. She knew, with as much certainty as the sun setting in the west that Lucien’s whole heart was entirely hers. “It just sounded like they were so close as children… yet he’s never once mentioned it.”

“I believe Lucien has effectively blocked most of his memories from this court,” Anlyn lamented. “Including many from when he was a child.”

“Well, there are some memories that he should unblock,” Elain declared, still staring at the bookshelves. “Because she does not deserve to be forgotten.”


	31. Chapter 31

“Tamlin?”

Lucien stood at the entrance to the sitting room, mouth agape and eyes wide. His metallic eye clicked and whirred furiously as he tried to detect any glamours or enchantments. But there was nothing. No tricks or spells. The High Lord of Spring was truly standing before them in the Night Court. 

“Wh–what are you doing here?” Lucien stammered.

Tamlin took a tentative step toward them and Lucien involuntarily took a step back. Silently, he cursed himself for showing any hint of cowardice. But the last time he and Tamlin had been in the same room, Spring’s High Lord had shifted into his beast form and left Lucien a bruised and bloody mess.

Tamlin shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I wasn’t expecting both of you,” he spoke to the floor.

“It’s my house,” Rhys sniffed.

“It’s been a long time, Lucien,” Tamlin said, ignoring Rhysand.

“Not long enough,” Rhys muttered.

Tamlin’s hands remained tucked in his trouser pockets but Lucien could see the linen tighten as he balled them into fists. Lucien glanced at Rhys and mouthed silently.

_ Play nice… please? _

Rhys simply rolled his eyes and casually sank into one of the high-backed armchairs. Lucien could plainly read the expression he gave back.

_ Fine… for now. _

Lucien idled over to the dry bar, having the uncomfortable sensation of reliving a moment in time over again. The meeting with his brothers had begun similarly to this. Lucien and Rhys pouring themselves drinks, feeling comfortable and at home while the outsider stood tersely across the room.

He could practically feel Tamlin’s eyes boring a hole into the back of his head as he lifted the lid from the decanter, poured himself a glass of bourbon, and replaced the glass stopper. Though before he could bring the glass to his lips, he set it back down on the small counter. Something compelled him to make his preferred drink—a whiskey cavalry—even though he hadn’t had one in months. Shrugging, he mixed the whiskey and cointreau, adding a splash of lemon juice and garnishing it with an orange twist.

Not wanting to waste a drink, he offered the glass of bourbon to Rhys, who nodded and accepted the glass. Lucien leaned his hip against the bar and looked up at Tamlin.

“What are you doing here?” He asked again.

“I got your letter,” Tamlin replied. His eyes darted to Rhys. “Or  _ your  _ letter I suppose. Or Helion’s letter. Whoever the hell wrote it, I got it.”

Lucien bit back the retort that he wanted to say. That they got Tamlin’s reply. His one word reply that was a waste of parchment and the postal guild’s time in delivering it. But he held his tongue.

Tamlin opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated. After a moment of apparent internal debate, he gestured toward Rhys. “Does he have to be here?”

_ “He _ can hear you,” Rhys said curtly. “And yes.”

Tamlin glanced at Lucien, as if hoping Lucien would ask Rhys to leave. But Lucien had no intention of asking Rhys to do anything, especially not for the sake of making Tamlin more comfortable.

“You showed up here unannounced at almost midnight,” Lucien scowled, “so either tell us why you came or go home.”

“I came to offer my help,” Tamlin blurted.

“Your help?” Lucien repeated, eyebrows arched.

“In the letter,” Tamlin explained. “It said your mate was abducted by Beron. I came to tell you that I’ll help you get her back.”

“And you couldn’t have put that in your letter?” Rhys rolled his eyes.

“No,” Tamlin shot back. “Because if I had, you would have ignored it and burned it.”

Rhys replied with an unconcerned shrug. Lucien’s own temper was rising, though he resisted the urge to growl at Rhys for being petty. He knew Rhys had his reasons and nothing Tamlin could ever do would heal the rift between them. For all Tamlin had done to Rhys, his family, and to Feyre… there was too much there for Rhys to ever forgive. 

And no matter how badly Lucien wanted to tell them both to grow up, he would never show that sort of disrespect to Rhys in front of Tamlin. Not because Lucien feared retribution from Rhys. He simply valued his High Lord’s friendship too much to jeopardize it. As he had once valued his friendship with Tamlin. 

Still, it made this conversation so much more difficult than it needed to be. And whether or not they wanted Tamlin’s help, Lucien was not about to refuse any aid offered. If Beron chose civil war, Tamlin could be a great asset to have on their side.

A knock on the door severed the tension as all three males turned toward the hallway. Azriel stood in the door frame and said, “Rhys, I need a quick word.”

“Now?” Rhys growled.

“Now,” Azriel replied. His eyes darted to Lucien and over to Tamlin before settling back on Rhys. If Lucien had been looking anywhere besides at Az, he would have missed the exchange.

“Fine,” Rhys sighed. “Make it quick.”

He followed Azriel down the hall and out of sight. Lucien shouldn’t have taken pleasure at the sigh of relief Tamlin breathed when Rhys was gone, but he did. Tamlin  _ should  _ be afraid of Rhys, especially for his part in what was done to Rhys’s family.

“Is Helion really your father?” Tamin asked suddenly.

Lucien nearly choked on his drink. Whatever he expected Tamlin to say once Rhys was out of earshot, that hadn’t been it.

“That’s not what you came all this way to discuss, is it?”

“No,” Tamlin admitted. “Not entirely. But it  _ is  _ interesting. It certainly explains a few things.”

Despite himself, Lucien found himself replying, “Such as?”

“Why Beron and your brothers hated you so much, for one thing.”

“Beron knew,” Lucien offered, “but my brothers didn’t.”

“Then why—”

“Why did they try to kill me?”

Tamlin nodded.

“My mother once told me that both Eris and I were born to be High Lords but only one of us would inherit Beron’s power.” Lucien had no idea why he was telling Tamlin this. They weren’t friends—not anymore. But once he began, he couldn’t stop. “I think that was my mother’s way of trying to tell me, even then, that Beron wasn’t my true father. Eris didn’t understand it any more than I did, but he did see me as a threat to his throne.”

“And what about that night in Hybern?” Tamlin asked.

“What about it?”

“It was Helion’s power. I often wondered how you broke the king’s spell and I couldn’t. I assumed it had something to do with Elain.” 

Lucien resisted the impulse to flinch. For whatever reason, the sound of his mate’s name from Tamlin’s mouth made him wary. Defensive. Perhaps it was because of Elain’s affinity for flowers and gardening and Tamlin being High Lord of Spring. For weeks after the night in Hybern, Lucien would have recurring dreams of Tamlin snatching Elain from his arms, telling him the Cauldron made a mistake. That she was  _ his  _ mate, not Lucien’s. 

Immediately following the disaster in Hybern, when Lucien returned to Spring with Tamlin and Feyre, he had been wracked with worry. At the time, he hadn’t known what the Night Court and Rhys were really like… and he had believed his mate to be in danger. Those weeks had been torture.

It had been a surreal feeling—to feel such possession and need to protect someone he had never met. He didn’t understand it. He only knew his purpose was to protect her. Provide for her.  _ Love  _ her. That had been the most bizarre feeling of it all. He loved this female before he ever truly knew her. When he got to Velaris and finally started spending time with her after the war, he began to fall in love with who she was. But he already loved her. In the very depth of his being, he had loved her from the moment she was dumped out of the Cauldron and sprawled on the cold stone floor.

He realized Tamlin was still talking. 

“... That the mating bond snapping into place somehow gave you the power to break free from the spell. But that flash of light… that was Day’s power.”

Lucien didn’t reply. No matter how much time passed, he hated reliving that night in Hybern. Seeing Elain’s terror. Hearing her scream and not even knowing why he needed to help her, to free her from those who held her prisoner.

And now she was a prisoner again, and it was his fault. Beron had taken her out of retaliation and spite. To hurt Lucien. And it had worked. Lucien was in pure misery every moment she was gone. It was almost ironic that the Whisperer had been mostly silent since she had been taken. It seemed that once his greatest fear had come to fruition, there was nothing left for the Whisperer to taunt him with. There was nothing else he feared. Except for never getting the opportunity to see her again. If Beron hurt her before he had a chance to tell her how sorry he was—

Without even realizing it, red-gold flames shot out from his fingertips. Tamlin eyed him curiously until Lucien flexed his fingers before balling his hands into fists and thrusting them into his coat pockets.

“I truly do want to help you get her back, Lucien.”

Lucien looked up into the eyes of the male who had once been his only friend. The male he would have voluntarily crossed the Wall for. To go to the mortal lands and let a mortal girl slay him to break Amarantha’s curse. 

“Why? You don’t even know her.”

“Because I have so much shit to atone for, I don’t even know where to start,” Tamlin admitted with a resounding sigh. “Beron has always been brash but never this reckless. He abducted the mate of another High Lord’s heir. Wars have been started over less. Even I wasn’t brazen enough to—”

He broke off abruptly, and Lucien finally understood why Tamlin was offering his help. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it sooner. To Beron, Lucien helped Helion steal Beron’s bride, so to exact his revenge, Beron stole Lucien’s mate. How many times after Feyre left Spring did Tamlin roar until the chandeliers shook that Rhysand had stolen Tamlin’s bride? That he had every right to march into Night and steal her back?

“Tam,” Lucien said tentatively. “I’m not saying I don’t want your help, but—”

“I know it doesn’t undo anything I did,” Tamlin interjected. “But I can help. Just… let me help. Please.”

Lucien still held out hope that they would be successful in retrieving Elain and his mother without having to resort to open conflict. Involving the other courts was a desperate last resort he hoped they never had to use. But he would be a fool to refuse aid that was being offered up freely. Especially from someone who could fight as fiercely as Tamlin.

Lucien remembered how he and Tamlin fought together, side by side, against his brothers when he defected to Spring. Remembered the hundreds of hours spent in the sparring ring together, fighting and blocking and training until they could predict the other’s moves before they were even made. How the years they spent training together became an asset during skirmishes at the Wall. Fighting alongside Tamlin had been like being able to see what was directly behind him. He never feared an attack from behind because when he and Tamlin were paired, neither of them had blind spots. They compensated the other’s shortcomings and moved as one unbreakable unit.

At least, they had once. So long ago, it felt like another lifetime. The last time Lucien had been in a fight with Tamlin, they had been fighting each other. As enemies. He wondered if they still had the wherewithal to fight as allies once more. 

As if he knew what Lucien was thinking, Tamlin said, “We were quite a formidable pair once.”

Lucien managed a rueful smile. “We certainly were.”

“I know my word means nothing,” Tamlin said, “but I am sorry. For it all.”

“There was a time I would have believed you.”

“I regret a lot of things,” Tamlin added, and for the first time that night, Lucien really looked at his former friend. He looked as if he had aged a hundred years in the past decade. There were deep creases between his brows and worry lines in the corners of his eyes. Beneath his eyes were dark circles and his mouth seemed to form a permanent frown. He looked utterly exhausted. “One of my biggest regrets is losing your trust. So, please consider my offer. I don’t expect an answer immediately. But know that if it comes down to it, if you call on me, I will answer.”

Before Lucien could reply, the sound of voices echoed down the hall, growing louder. A moment later, Rhys and Azriel reentered the sitting room.

“Excellent timing, Rhysand,” Tamlin said curtly. “I was just on my way out.”

He didn’t even take the time to bid any of them goodbye as he strode out the door and down the hallway, undoubtedly to wherever the wards ended so he could winnow home.

“So,” Rhys drawled as he poured a glass of whiskey and downed it in one gulp, “What did he want?”

“He offered his allegiance if Beron declares war,” Lucien answered quietly.

“What, seriously?” Rhys started.

Briefly, Lucien recounted his conversation with Tamlin. When he finished, Rhys looked unconvinced.

“Tamlin’s word is about as reliable as a carrier pigeon in a hurricane,” Rhys grumbled. “Besides, we don’t need his help.”

“Then why did we write to him?”

_ “I  _ didn’t write to him,” Rhys pointed out. “Helion did.”

“If Beron declares war, I’m not refusing anyone who’s willing to fight for us,” Lucien attested.

“I’ll accept anyone’s help,” Rhys agreed, “except Tamlin’s.”

“Rhys,” Azriel urged firmly, “I know you have centuries of bitterness toward Tamlin. For completely valid reasons. And nothing will ever change that.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point,” Az implored, “is that you need to set aside your personal grudge. This isn’t about you and your feud. It’s about getting Elain back. Lucien’s mate. Feyre’s sister.  _ Our  _ family.”

Rhys sighed deeply, looking at Azriel long and hard. “Damn you, you shrewd sensible bastard.”

“Love you too, brother,” Azriel chuckled.

Rhys sighed and, pulling on the back of his neck, turned toward Lucien. “Very well,” he said. “If we reach that point where we need help from the other courts, I will not refuse an offer from Tamlin.”

“Thank you, Rhys,” Lucien replied. “I know that is not easy for you.”

“It isn’t,” Rhys agreed, “but Az is right. This isn’t about me.”

*************************

Back in Velaris, Lucien sat on the second-story patio of his townhouse. It was nearly one in the morning, but he was still wide awake, replaying the conversation with Tamlin over and over in his mind.

He had truly never expected to see his former friend again. Even when Lucien would write to Spring on behalf of Night, which wasn’t often, he would sign the letters from himself and affix Rhysand’s stamp to the bottom. On the even rarer occasions when Tamlin would write back, He would address his letter to Rhysand, never Lucien. That had stung more than Lucien was willing to admit, considering the centuries of bad blood between Tamlin and Rhys. 

Perhaps Tamlin was finally coming around…

Lucien shook his head lightly. Best not to think too much into it. That was a guaranteed way of ending up disappointed.

The sound of soft footsteps behind him made him turn, though his mechanical eye saw Feyre before she made a sound.

“I can’t sleep either,” she admitted, handing him a steaming mug. “It’s just tea.”

Lucien accepted the mug and took a tentative sip. “‘Just tea,’” he smirked, “and bourbon.”

Feyre shrugged and sat in the empty chair beside him. The chair that Elain so often sat in during quiet evenings spent out here together. They liked to watch the city as it transitioned from day to night. Some shops and businesses would close down for the day, extinguishing the lamps in their windows and above their doors, while others were just coming alive. Nightclubs and dance halls would bloom with light and music.

Feyre was quiet as she sat beside him, sipping from her own mug and staring out into the city. Lucien finally voiced the question that had been nagging at him ever since he and the others returned from the Court of Nightmares.

“You sent Az,” he imparted. “Didn’t you?”

“Umm, no?” Feyre replied unconvincingly with a forced smile.

Lucien arched one eyebrow as his metal eye clicked and whirred. It couldn’t detect lies, but Feyre didn’t need to know that.

She set the mug down on a small table between their two chairs. “Fine, I did. When I got home, Nuala told me where you and Rhys had gone. When I asked her to describe our ‘visitor’ I knew it had to be Tamlin. I would have come myself but… well, I just didn’t want to,” she admitted with an apologetic smile. “I also thought my presence might not help dissolve any tension. I asked Az to go, hoping his presence would help avoid a fight from breaking out.”

Lucien brought a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Do you truly not trust me to behave civilly around him?”

Feyre shook her head and chuckled. “No, I don’t trust  _ Rhys  _ to behave civilly around him.”

She twitched her head, as if shooing an irksome fly. “I meant you to!” She said aloud, though clearly not to Lucien.

“Anyway,” she continued. “I just suspected that there was a lot of tension bubbling over with you three in the same room.”

“Well, you weren’t wrong,” Lucien chuckled. “Thank you.”

Feyre raised her mug in acknowledgment and toast before taking another sip. Lucien stared at the chair she sat in. He enjoyed Feyre’s company, though he couldn’t help but resent her presence at the moment. It was Elain who should be in that chair beside him. He wished he hadn’t overreacted when they’d fought. He wished he had come home and apologized before rushing off to Day. But most of all, he wished that godsdamned Whisperer had never even come into their lives.

He would never forgive himself if something happened to her in Autumn. 

“We’ll get her back,” Feyre said solemnly. “I promise.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Lucien admitted. “What I worry about most is what Beron could do to her—to both of them—before we do get them back.”

“If he hurts either one of them—”

“He will pay dearly,” Lucien growled.


	32. Chapter 32

Briar stood in the kitchen of the apartment she shared with Azriel, her pack sitting on the floor near the entryway. She had insisted to go along on the venture to Under the Mountain, but now that she was about to leave, she was nervous and jittery, asking herself what she was doing for what felt like the thousandth time. 

“Are you ready?” Azriel’s voice was firm and strong and confident.

Everything Briar was not at that exact moment.

“Probably not,” she admitted with a weak smile. 

She tried not to think about when she would see him again.  _ If  _ she would see him again. 

_ No, stop that, _ she hissed at herself. She would not allow her fear to take hold of her. 

Azriel picked up her pack from the floor and held it up as Briar slipped her arms through the straps. She wanted to say something to reassure him she would be fine. He and Lucien wouldn’t be leaving to rescue Elain and Anlyn until later tonight and she didn’t want him spending most of the day worrying about her. Still, ‘I’ll see you when I get back,’ seemed so ingenuine. So she simply stood on the tips of her toes and kissed him. 

Azriel wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her off the floor.

“I love you,” she breathed against his mouth.

“Briar!” Cassian’s voice called from outside. “Are you ready?”

“Shut up, you oaf,” Amren hissed.

Azriel set her down, rolling his eyes at the crassness of his brother. Briar reached for the doorknob but Azriel called out for her to wait. When she turned back around, he said, “I want you to take this with you.”

In his outstretched hand was one of his blue siphons.

Briar’s mouth fell open. “But… No, I can’t.”

“You can,” Az said softly. “And I need you to.”

“But,” Briar objected, “I have no magic. No power for it to amplify.”

“Take it anyway,” he insisted.

“Don’t you need it?”

Az shrugged. “I can get by with the other six.”

An involuntary shiver went down Briar’s spine as she remembered how powerful Azriel was. To need seven siphons to harness and focus his power. To keep it in check. And he was voluntarily relinquishing some of that control—unharnessing that power—for her. 

“Are you sure?”

“Of course,” he said with a shrug.

“Well… alright then. Will you put it in my pack?”

“No,” he said, coming closer to her. “Carry it on  _ you.” _

Briar considered a moment before tucking the sapphire stone into a small snug pocket on her jerkin, right over her heart. She wasn’t sure if it had some sort of power on its own or if it was merely to serve as a talisman for luck. Either way, she was grateful to have it.

She gripped his hand tightly as they went outside to join the others.

“Are you ready?” Cassian asked again with a wry smile.

“I suppose,” Briar replied with a shrug. “How are we getting there? Winnowing?”

“After a while,” Rhys replied. “But we’ll fly some of the way, winnowing when we need to avoid problem areas.”

Briar glanced between Rhys and Cassian. “Cass is carrying Amren,” Rhys said. “And I’m carrying you.”

Briar hid her sigh of relief. She adored Cassian, but she didn’t want to spend hours in the air with him teasing her about Azriel. She gave her Shadowsinger another brief kiss and squeezed his hand before allowing Rhys to pick her up. Azriel remained on the ground, staring up at them, until they were too high for her to see him. She closed her hand over the pocket containing the siphon as she hoped they would be home sooner rather than later.

***********************************

Once twilight had fallen, Lucien met Azriel in their agreed upon location—the stables outside the city. They too were planning to fly some of the way and then winnow closer to their destination. Their hope was that Eris’s party would be in full swing later in the evening, thereby decreasing the likelihood they would be spotted.

When Lucien arrived at the stable, Azriel was already pacing. He gave his friend a sympathetic clap on the back and said, “She’ll be fine.” 

“I know,” Azriel muttered. “I know.”

The Shadowsinger glanced at the sky. “We’d better get going.”

“Right,” Lucien said, bracing himself for Azriel to take flight and pick him up. It was nowhere near as awkward as it had been a decade ago when Az carried him away from that frozen lake in Winter but it was still not Lucien’s preferred method of traveling. Once they were airborne, he patted the breast pocket of his jerkin, ensuring that the broken chain and pendant Anlyn had given Elain was still secured inside. He spent nearly the entire flight trying to figure out what to say to her. When they finally landed at the border of Autumn, he still hadn’t gotten any further than ‘I’m sorry.’

“Alright,” Az said, slightly out of breath. “You take it from here.”

Lucien gave his friend a curt nod that in the growing darkness, Azriel probably couldn’t see. Lucien gripped Az by the shoulder and winnowed them deep into the Autumn Court forest, where the estate sat in its center.

He winnowed them to a rocky outcropping where the autumn foliage was the least dense and thereby the least likely for them to make unnecessary noise by stepping on dead leaves or fallen branches.

Built into the side of a stray mountain peak, the estate loomed above them, perched above the treetops. They stood at the base of the mountain, Lucien craning his neck to look up. 

“Good thing you’ve got wings,” he whispered. “It used to take me hours to climb up when I was a boy.”

“You used to climb this?” Az hissed back. 

“It was the only way I could sneak out,” Lucien explained.

Azriel studied the steep incline. “We’ll need to climb a tree. It’s too wooded down here to catch a proper wind current.”

“Well, then, let’s get going.”

“I’m afraid I can’t allow you to do that,” a third, unknown voice said from the dark. 

Lucien and Azriel both spun around, though before Az could vanish into the shadows, three sentries emerged from seemingly nowhere and clapped bands of blue iron around his wrists and ankles just as two more did the same to Lucien. The bands of faebane were attached to thick chains, which the sentries tugged on simultaneously, sending Azriel crashing to the ground.

Lucien snarled as one of them tugged on the chains binding him, his teeth bared. With those shackles bound tightly to his wrists, he couldn’t use a drop of magic. All his powers—nullified. He pulled against the chains, trying desperately to get free. He didn’t care if his strength was reduced to that of a mortal’s. Elain—his  _ mate _ —was being held captive here and he would fight to free her, even if it cost him his life.

He attempted to reach for one of the daggers sheathed in his baldric, but one of the sentries snatched the chain, tightening it until Lucien’s hands were pinned behind his back.

“Silly little Lucien,” a voice he recognized said from the darkness.

“Baurith,” Lucien spat. The second eldest of his brothers… and by far the most bloodthirsty.

“So nice that you remember me,” Baurith sneered, his features half-hidden by the torches the other sentries held. “Our father isn’t stupid, you know.”

“Your father,” Lucien retorted. “Not mine.”

“Oh, that’s right,” his brother drawled. “I do remember hearing a nasty little rumor that our mother whored around with the biggest slut in Prythian and wound up with you.”

Lucien roared in fury, straining against the chains until the shackles bit into his wrists. But with the faebane effectively diminishing his immortal strength—and the spell-cleaving abilities he inherited from Helion—the attempt was futile. 

In the dim light of the torches, Azriel caught Lucien’s eye and gave an imperceptible shake of his head. Lucien understood his meaning well enough. 

_ Save your strength. Let them get us where we want to be—inside the estate. We’ll find a way to escape then. _

Still, Lucien had to fight against his instinct to free himself. 

“Where do you want us to take then, Baur?” One of the sentries asked.

“Take  _ that one _ to the dungeons,” Baurith said, pointing at Azriel.

“Oh, am I too good for the dungeon?” Lucien goaded. 

“Not at all, brother. Father actually gave orders for us to shoot you on sight,” Baurith taunted. “But I thought it would be more fun if your girlfriend knew we found you before we kill you.”

_ No. _

Lucien’s gut twisted.

_ I’m so sorry, Elain _ , he thought miserably.  _ I failed you. _

He tried to catch Az’s eye again but the other sentries had already begun leading him off toward a path at the base of the mountain, which Lucien knew became a tunnel to the dungeons. But Baurith was taking Lucien back around to the front of the estate… and through the front gates. For the sole purpose of flaunting his capture.

“The rebellious Lucien,” Baurith pronounced mockingly, “has finally come home.”

“This was  _ never  _ my home,” Lucien spat. 

“Perhaps not,” his brother snarled, “but it will most assuredly be where you take your final breath.”

The extravagant iron and obsidian gates opened as Baurith led Lucien onto the estate grounds. Perhaps coming on the night of Eris’s party had been a mistake. Perhaps Beron _was_ smarter than Lucien gave him credit for and had anticipated a rescue attempt. Had planned for it. He stumbled as Baurith jerked the short chain securing his two shackled wrists together. He hoped that wherever Rhys and the others were, they were faring better than he and Az were.

***********************************

Elain yelped, launching out of her chair as if something had burned her.

“What’s the matter?” Anlyn rushed over to her from where she had still been sitting by the fire.

“I—I don’t know,” Elain admitted. “I just… had this odd feeling.”

“Of what?”

Elain drew her bottom lip between her teeth as she tried to remember precisely what she had been thinking about the moment it happened. “It felt a bit like the first time Lucien tugged on the mating bond,” she said quietly. “Though it burned. It’s never felt that way before.”

“You don’t suppose…”

“What?” Elain demanded. “Suppose what?”

“Nothing,” Anlyn said quickly. “Forget I said anything.” She wandered over to the window and stared out into the inky black night. 

“No,” Elain protested, joining her at the window. “Please, tell me. What were you going to say?”

Instead of answering directly, Anlyn pointed to the ground below. “I know it’s difficult to see now, but you’ve looked out this window enough by now, you remember what’s below it?”

“An incredibly steep rocky slope,” Elain answered, trying not to feel frustrated as Anlyn appeared to be avoiding the subject.

“When Lucien was a boy, he used to sneak out by climbing out this very window and down the mountain to the ground below.”

Despite herself, Elain’s mouth fell open in slight surprise. “He used to climb down  _ this?” _

Anlyn nodded. “At first, I could never determine how he managed it. I never dreamed he would be so foolish as to attempt such a dangerous climb just to get out of lessons.”

“I feel a ‘but’ coming,” Elain guessed. 

“But,” Anlyn said with a smile, “I underestimated him. He did it so often, it became practically nothing to climb down and disappear into the woods all day. But he was always back here, in his room, before bedtime and none of the front gate sentries ever recalled seeing him.”

Elain tried to look out the window at the ground below, but the moonless sky provided no light. All Elain could see was her own reflection, wavering slightly from the flickering firelight behind her.

“From an early age, Lucien proved he was willing to do the impossible to get what he wanted,” Anlyn said, still staring out the window. 

“Wait,” Elain urged, horrified at what Anlyn was suggesting. “You’re not saying… You don’t think he’s—that he’s here, do you?”

“What if the feeling you just had was the bond? Trying desperately to reach out to you to tell you something?”

The door burst open, causing both females to jump in alarm. Elain was even more surprised to see Anlyn holding a brass candlestick in front of her like a weapon. She had moved so fast, Elain never even saw her grab it. 

To Elain’s relief, it was only Relleah at the door, doubled over with her hands on her knees, panting as though she had run here.

Her relief faded into horror though, when Relleah gasped between breaths, “I just—just heard from the—laundresses. In the basement. They saw—sentries bringing someone in—in faebane chains.”

“Catch your breath, Relleah,” Anlyn said just as Elain said, “Who, Relleah. Who was it?”

“It was an Illyrian,” Relleah panted. “They said he had blue stones on his arms and chest.”

“Azriel,” Elain breathed, fear clutching at her heart. 

Azriel had come to rescue her once again. Her beloved friend who had looked out for her since she first came to Prythian. How on earth had been been captured? For some reason, whenever Elain thought of Azriel, she assumed he was uncatable. Perhaps because of his shadows, and his ability to vanish into them, she never considered that he could be captured. 

But he had. And now Beron was holding him in the dungeons. What would she ever say to Briar if something happened to him here? How could she ever look her friend in the eye again?

The door eased open again and a male Elain did not recognize entered. He didn’t even pay Relleah any mind as he strode past her and directly to Anlyn.

“Mother,” he said hoarsely.

“Vesstan,” Anlyn replied, her voice strained and tense. 

“Mother,” Vesstan repeated. “The sentries captured a… an intruder. And I didn’t want news of it to come by way of the servants’ tittering rumors.” He cast a glance at Relleah, who did her best to make herself invisible in plain sight, folding back Elain’s bed sheets as she did every night.

“Oh, Relleah did mention something about that, actually,” Anlyn said dismissively, and Elain had to marvel at the skill she displayed in keeping her voice level and unconcerned. “An Illyrian, I believe it was?”

“Not the Illyrian,” Vesstan said, his eyes full of anguish. He took a deep breath, steeling himself to deliver news that he seemed to know would be upsetting to Anlyn. “Mother… they caught Lucien attempting to enter the estate from the northwestern ridge.”

The floor seemed to tumble away even as Elain remained rooted in place. She swayed slightly, unsure which way was up and which was down. When she was finally able to settle on a coherent thought, the first thing that sprang into her head was that Lucien  _ was  _ here. He  _ had  _ come for her… But Beron said if Lucien was caught entering the Autumn Court, the sentries had orders to kill him on sight. 

“So… where is he?” Elain managed to ask. “Did they take him to the dungeons? With Az—err, the Illyrian?”

“No. Unfortunately, it was Baurith who found him. And is taking him directly to Beron.”

“No!” Anlyn cried. “Vesstan, stop him. Beron will  _ kill  _ him!”

Panic seized Elain’s heart. She hadn’t once heard Anlyn raise her voice or lose her composure… until now. 

“I will do what I can to stall him,” Vesstan promised before leaving the room as abruptly as he had entered it.

Anlyn paced fretfully, wringing her hands together as she babbled, “Vesstan has to stop him. Beron will kill him. He never forgave Lucien for escaping and making a mockery of him. He swore if Lucien ever came back here outside of any official emissary duties, he would make sure he never left! He has wanted Lucien dead since the day he was born. He will  _ kill him!” _

“No he won’t,” Elain croaked. “Not yet at least.”

Anlyn’s head whipped up. Her face was streaked with tears. “What do you mean?”

“The vision,” she said miserably, meeting Anlyn’s eyes. “The vision was another warning. I just didn’t realize it.”

Elain was vaguely aware of sinking into the nearest chair as the gravity of the situation crashed over her. Azriel was captured, being held in a dungeon somewhere far below them. He wasn’t High Fae but the faebane obviously worked on him just as effectively as it did on faeries. She suspected they wouldn’t keep him prisoner for long—not once they discovered who he was in league with.

And Lucien. Her beloved Lucien.

He did come for her. All the doubt and uncertainty that had weighed on her the past week was gone, replaced by fear and worry that she would never get to gaze into his beautiful mismatched eyes again.

She imagined he was being escorted to Beron at that very moment. To be chained to a whipping post in the courtyard square at first light, where he would be beaten into oblivion. Her vision hadn’t been polite enough to show her whether he survived, but knowing Beron’s reputation for brutality, she suspected not.

Lucien and Azriel came to rescue her. That thought kept swirling through her mind. The two males in all the world who meant the most to her had come to take her home. Azriel, her first true friend in Prythian, who was always so intuitive to her needs, who always offered a silent but solid presence of comfort. 

And  _ Lucien.  _ Her beloved mate. How could she have ever assumed he would abandon her? He had proven to her time and again that his love for her was eternal. He told her once he would walk through fire and ice to get to her. He had come for her. The Whisperer had been wrong—her mate had not forsaken her, even though she could not provide him an heir. He had come for her.

And was now probably being dragged to a whipping post, his power and might suppressed by faebane. Scenes from the vision flashed before her eyes, commingling with images that weren’t her memories—but his. Memories from the story he told her about Jesminda’s execution. Those memories mixed with snippets from Elain’s vision until they formed a complete scene. Of Lucien being whipped for all the residents of the Autumn Court to see… before his remaining brothers fired arrows into his heart.

“No!” Elain suddenly screamed. “I can’t lose him! I can’t lose either of them!”

The weight of her reality was too much to bear. She crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself as she rocked with sudden sobs. “Did I lose them both today?” She wailed, her breathing becoming rapid and shallow.  _ “Did I lose them both?” _

Anlyn surged forward and wrapped her in a tight embrace, stroking her hair and whispering reassuring words. But Elain heard none of it. She sobbed into Anlyn’s breast, her mother-in-law holding onto her as tears of her own fell into Elain’s hair.

“I can’t lose them. I can’t lose them both,” Elain cried, over and over, until her throat was raw and her eyes were swollen and red. Anlyn never let go of her, even after Elain’s anguish dissolved into unconsciousness.


	33. Chapter 33

Lucien expected to be taken to Beron immediately where he would be publicly humiliated for his entire court to see. But instead, the sentries led him down a stairwell he knew led to Beron’s private dungeon. He had only been down here once before, when he was still a boy, and had burst into Beron’s throne room in the middle of a banquet covered in sap and arguing loudly with Baurith and Iolas. A practical joke played on him by his brothers, and yet in typical fashion, Lucien was blamed.

Beron had been furious that night, dragging Lucien down the stairs himself and flinging him into the solitary cell.

“Father, please,” he had begged. “I didn’t do anything! It was Baurith!”

“You have embarrassed me for the last time, Lucien!”

He’d been down there without light or food for nearly two days until the bobbing light from a lantern and his mother’s face greeted him. The argument between Beron and his mother that followed was one of the worst Lucien ever remembered. 

Anlyn almost  _ never  _ lost her temper in front of Beron, since anytime she did, she was struck for being disrespectful. But when she found Lucien in Beron’s cell, curled up and shivering in a corner with a filthy thin blanket, she threatened to leave him if he ever treated her son that way again. Despite his bleak circumstances, Lucien had to laugh at the confusion he’d had, wondering why his mother had said “my son” and not “our son.” So much of his childhood made sense now that he knew his true parentage.

Baurith smiled cruelly as he shoved Lucien into the cell and closed the door.

“Enjoy your stay,” he said mockingly. “I daresay  _ father  _ will be here soon enough to deal with you.”

Lucien’s upper lip curled in disgust at his brother’s retreating form. What he wouldn’t give to have  _ his  _ father show up and deal with them all. 

Unfortunately, his brother hadn’t been stupid enough to remove the faebane cuffs before locking him in the cell and as a result, he couldn’t even summon the tiniest of flames to provide any light or warmth in the miserable cell.

Exhaustion wore heavily on him. The adrenaline from his capture had long since vanished and he wanted nothing more than to sleep, but he didn’t dare close his eyes. He knew the moment he did would be the same moment Beron chose to appear and the last thing Lucien wanted was to give him the satisfaction of catching him off guard. 

Lucien didn’t know if it was minutes or hours that passed, but finally, he heard the creak of metal door hinges from the top of the stairs and the sound of footfalls descending to the dungeon. Beron reached the bottom of the stairs and even in the dim light of the flame dancing in his hand, Lucien could see the sneer on the High Lord’s thin mouth.

“I’m  _ so _ sorry for keeping you waiting,” Beron’s oily voice drawled. “It was your brother’s birthday, you know. And we had guests to entertain.”

Lucien didn’t bother to respond, trying to appear bored despite the longing he felt to rage at this monster who called himself a High Lord.

“So nice of you to finally decide to come home for a visit,” Beron continued to taunt him.

Lucien sighed inwardly. He knew Beron’s tactics—had been forced to watch and learn when he and his brothers were children. So he knew Beron would not leave until Lucien responded.

“You know very well why I’m here,” Lucien spat, “and it isn’t for any cordial visit.”

Beron flipped his hand around so that his palm faced the floor, the small flame curling around his fingers almost playfully. “You took my wife… it seemed only fair that I take yours.”

Lucien’s blood boiled. “She is more than my wife, you swine. She is my  _ mate.” _

For his entire childhood and most of his adult life, Lucien had been too afraid of Beron to ever speak to him so brazenly. Even the slightest hint of disrespect would be rewarded with a backhanded blow to the face at the very least. At the worst…

Beron merely shrugged, entirely unperturbed. Perhaps this was his plan—allow Lucien to insult and curse him and then dole out whatever twisted punishment he saw fit.

Despite himself, Lucien couldn’t help asking, “How did you even get into Night, anyway?”

“You forget that not all of Rhysand’s subjects kiss the ground he walks upon. Residents of his ‘Court of Nightmares’ are more than willing to betray him… for the right price.”

“And what price, pray tell, did you have to pay?” Lucien tried to keep talking. To keep his rage in check. If he survived this, he could at least let Rhys into his mind to see who the traitor was, though Lucien would have been willing to bet anything it was Keir. 

“Do you know what the greatest motivator is?” Beron sneered, turning his fingers over while the flame continued to hop across them. “Not love. Not hope. Those are what sentimental idiots might believe, but no. It is fear. Put enough fear into someone’s heart that they might lose that which is most dear to them, and they will do whatever you demand to prevent that from happening. For the spineless governor overseeing the Court of Nightmares, the fear of losing his position combined with a hefty sum was all it took.”

Fear. And more importantly, fear as a motivator. That sounded almost like the Whisperer. Lucien’s mind raced as he wondered if the creature had gotten inside Beron’s head. Or worse—if they were somehow working together? Or perhaps Beron was just that nasty all on his own and his methods resembled that of the Whisperer’s simply out of their inherent nastiness.

“You don’t want her,” Lucien declared. “Neither of them. We both know you stopped loving my mother centuries ago and you have no real use for Elain, besides to ensure my cooperation. So take what you want and let them both go.”

“And what might that be?”

Lucien steadied his breathing and tried to mask his own fear as he replied, “What you were robbed of the night you had Jesminda killed.”

Beron’s eyebrow arched sharply.

Lucien answered his unasked question. “You’ve wished me dead for centuries, Beron. And now you have me. Powerless and at your whim.”

Lucien closed his eyes and bowed his head slightly. He wasn’t afraid of death. Somehow, he’d been skirting around it his entire life. All he feared from the prospect of his impending death was of never seeing Elain again. Of her having to grieve him.

When he opened his eyes, Beron was still scowling at him, so many years of resentment and disappointment painted clearly on his face.

“Please.” The word ripped from Lucien’s throat. Even since he’d been a boy and Beron locked him down here the first time, Lucien had resigned himself never to beg Beron for anything ever again. Never to show him an ounce of vulnerability. Of weakness. But now, for the sake of his mate, he begged. “Please, just release them. And I swear, I won’t attempt to escape. I’ll go willingly to whatever fate you have planned for me… just please let them go.”

Beron’s sneer twisted into a cold, wicked smile. “Now, why would I do that?”

Lucien’s heart sank as two sentries approached and unlocked the door. He hadn’t even noticed when they came in. They flanked Lucien on both sides, shoving him roughly out of the cell and toward the stairs. Beron remained firmly rooted in place at the door of the cell, watching Lucien as he was hauled up the stairs.

“Where are you taking me?” Lucien demanded the guards.

“You are finally going to pay for the centuries of embarrassment you have brought upon my house,” Beron promised, “and to my name. Oh but don’t worry. I’ll give your precious  _ mate  _ the chance to see you before you take your final breath.”

The sentries heaved Lucien roughly up the stairs, and he growled as his hatred for the High Lord behind him deepened.

Lucien barely paid attention to where he was being taken. He didn’t care. None of it seemed to matter anymore. He had failed to save his mother, who sacrificed her so newly-obtained freedom for Elain. And he had failed to save Elain. His mate. The true love of his life. He failed her… in every way a male could fail his mate.

By the time they reached the main dungeons, Lucien was numb. He hardly noticed when his wrists were locked in new shackles anchored to the wall. Barely felt the bite of the whip as it lashed into his back. Somewhere, from far away, he thought he heard Azriel screaming at him to fight back. Finally, darkness enveloped him and the choice of whether or not to sleep was taken from him as his vision went black.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter was so short, I couldn't resist giving y'all two in one day. Hope ya don't minddddd!

After a full day of traveling, Briar stared up at the opening of the biggest cave she had ever seen. It was wide enough to fit at least two dozen horses, side-by-side. And the ceiling was so high, she couldn’t see the very top of it in the dim light of dusk. There were torches in sconces all along the walls leading as far back as she could see, though none were lit.

The others told her this place had once been the neutral zone for all the courts, a meeting place for important business, but it had been abandoned after Amarantha’s wicked reign.

Rhys approached and stood beside her, grimacing. “I never wanted to come back here,” he admitted. 

Briar didn’t have to be a Seer to know that Rhys held a barrage of unpleasant memories from this place. The hollow, haunted expression in his eyes told her enough.

Cassian joined Rhys on his other side and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “It’s different now, brother. We go in… and come out together. No exceptions. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Rhys said with a nod.

“Come on,” Amren urged. “We won’t get anything done just standing here staring at the entrance.”

Rhys gave a hollow laugh at his second. “You still need to work on your empathy skills, old friend.”

“I have empathy,” Amren insisted, grabbing a torch from one of the wall sconces and digging in her pack for flint. “I just don’t see the need to use it often.”

Amren struggled with the flint for a few moments. After several unsuccessful attempts, she threw down the torch and flint. “Where is that annoyingly handsome fox when we need him?”

“I’m sorry,” Briar snorted, hardly able to conceal her amusement. “But are you referring to Lucien?” 

“How many other foxes do we have in our midst?” Amren hissed.

“Amren has always been rather… enamoured by Lucien,” Cassian jibed, poking Amren in the ribs before kneeling to pick up the torch and flint she discarded.

“I just like looking at him,” Amren insisted. “Is that a crime?”

“No,” Cassian replied. With skilled proficiency, he struck the flint once and a spark flared, igniting the torch. “Unless Elain doesn’t like the way you’re looking at him.”

Briar’s smile vanished. Twilight had quickly begun to give way to night. Azriel and Lucien would be on their way to Autumn by now. If all went well, they would be back in Night with Elain and Anlyn by morning. She hoped her own party would be home soon as well.

She heaved a sigh and accepted the torch from Cass as he lit another. “Well, let’s go,” Briar said. “Amren is right about one thing. We won’t accomplish anything just standing at the mouth of this cave.”

Rhys nodded grimly and once he and Amren also had lit torches, he led the way down the dark tunnel into the depths of Under the Mountain. They walked and walked. Rhys led them down this tunnel and that, turning occasionally to take a path Briar would never have even known existed. From the limited range of her torch light, every tunnel looked exactly the same. She had no idea how Rhys knew which paths to take.

“Because I lived down here for nearly fifty years,” he replied quietly enough that the others didn’t hear. Still, Briar turned to look behind her, to where Cass and Amren’s torches bobbed several yards behind them.

“How did you do that?” Briar whispered.

Rhys tapped his temple. “Daemati, remember?”

“Yes, but I didn’t know you could get inside my head,” she replied. “Doesn’t that only work on fae?”

“Oh, no, it works on everyone,” Rhys said. “And especially mortals. Most have absolutely no shields to protect their minds. You at least have a thin one, thanks to the training from Az.”

Briar walked a few paces in silence.

“Don’t be upset. I’ve been taking periodic glances into everyone’s mind since we entered the tunnels. This place can play tricks on your mind, and I want to make sure we’re all staying sound.”

Briar swallowed thickly. “Are the others as… I mean, are they—”

“Are they as afraid as you and I are?”

“You’re afraid?”

Rhys let out a barklike laugh. “Are you kidding? I’m mortified to be down here again.”

Briar didn’t know the full details of what Rhys endured during his time Under the Mountain, but she knew enough to know it was a place full of haunting memories and sacrifices he made to keep his people safe. And now he was back in the place of his nightmares, once more for the protection of his people.

“Fortunately,” Rhys said a bit stiffly, “we only have to pass through the throne room, not the private quarters.”

Again, Briar hadn’t been told all the details of Rhys’s experiences while Amarantha held Prythian under her spell, though she had been able to piece enough together from the passing mentions of it.

“Do you know where the lake is?” She asked him, trying to divert the conversation away from anything pertaining to Amarantha.

“Vaguely,” Rhys said, pausing to study the fork in the tunnel to decide which was the correct way. “Nuala and Cerridwen were able to join me for brief periods down here. Because of their ability to pass through stone and earth, they were able to access a lot more places than the rest of us.”

He held the torch as high as he could, illuminating a carving Briar couldn’t read above the archway on the left tunnel. Rhys shook his head, did the same with the right side, and in the torchlight, Briar saw a different carving at the top of the arch. With a nod, Rhys motioned for her to follow him to the right.

“They spent quite a bit of time exploring the depths of this place,” Rhys continued, “trying to find any means of escape without raising Amarantha’s suspicion. They never found anything, obviously, but one thing they did report back to me was the discovery of a hollow area far beneath the throne room.”

“How far beneath?”

A shrug. “They never gave a specific distance. It’s possible they didn’t know. But it was deep enough that  _ no one _ seemed to have ever heard of it. I never had an opportunity to investigate it further.”

“Then how do you know we’re going the right way?” Briar shrunk back from her own question. It was not her place to doubt the High Lord’s decisions. She hadn’t meant it that way, though. She had asked merely out of curiosity. Thankfully, Rhys didn’t seem to take offense.

“Before we left, I asked the twins to give me specific directions,” Rhys explained. “As detailed as they could remember. They did even better than I could have asked.”

“How?”

The corner of Rhys’s mouth turned upward. “They allowed me to view their memories.”

They walked for another quarter of an hour in silence. Just as Briar’s stomach began to growl, Rhys stopped.

“We’ll rest here to eat and get a few hours sleep,” he declared.

“We can’t make it tonight?” Briar fretted, glancing around at the tunnel wall that was practically indistinguishable from all the others.

“Not even if we walked all night,” Rhys answered. “This place is a labyrinth of tunnels and passages. It will take us at least two days to reach the cave.”

Briar’s heart fell. Two days. She hadn’t realized it would be such a trek into the unending darkness. Though it didn’t really matter, she told herself. She wouldn’t know the difference between night and day this far underground.

“We could press on a little further tonight,” Rhys continued, “but we would eventually need to rest and for tonight, I’d prefer to rest in a place that’s familiar to me rather than somewhere unknown. And the next bend of this tunnel leads into the throne room, so there are only two directions we need to watch instead of a dozen.”

They set down their packs and settled into a small niche hollowed out of the wall. Cass dug in his pack until he found provisions—venison jerky, cheese, and two loaves of bread. After they ate, Amren offered to take the first watch. Briar offered to be added to the rotation but knew Rhys would decline. She had expected it, though the rejection still felt like a dull sting. She wished she had strength and power equal to theirs so she could be useful somehow. To her own surprise, she managed to fall asleep relatively quickly despite how much she silently fretted over how difficult it would be to fall asleep on hard stone.

She woke some hours later when Cassian and Rhys swapped for the watch. Briar instantly knew she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep, so she quietly got up and joined Rhys where he sat, back against the wall and staring straight ahead.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” He teased.

“I slept,” she replied. “But I figured while I’m awake, I could keep you company… If you like, that is.”

They’d kept one torch lit for the watch and from its low flickering light, Briar could see Ryhs nod. They talked in low voices until Cass and Amren finally woke.

“Well,” Amren said, taking a bite off the heel of bread in her hand, “shall we press on?”

Their small party gathered up their packs, relit the remaining torches, and trudged on through the darkness.

True to his word, Rhys led them for two days of blessedly uneventful travel through countless tunnels until they finally emerged into a wide open cave, its center illuminated by a red stone hovering a hundred feet in the air. From its eerie light, Briar could tell that most of the cave was a lake, surrounded by a strip of stone no wider than the streets in Velaris. And from the center of the lake, Briar heard a voice that made every hair on the back of her neck rise.

_ So… you have come at last. _


	35. Chapter 35

Lucien’s first conscious thought was that everything hurt. He was lying on his stomach on a cold stone floor and when he tried to sit up, his back protested in agony.

“Lucien?”

He groaned at the sound of his name, though he wasn’t sure he had the strength to look up.

“Lucien, can you hear me?”

“Az?” He replied thickly, wishing the ringing in his ears would lessen.

An enormous sigh of relief breathed from somewhere on Lucien’s left.

“Here,” Azriel said and the sound of metal scraping on stone caused Lucien to wince. “If you can get up, there’s water in this jug. It isn’t cold but it’s clean at least.”

Lucien glanced in the direction of Azriel’s voice and saw the Illyrian straining to push a pewter jug through the bars into his cell. He braced his hands against the filthy floor and pushed himself up, but his arms buckled and he collapsed back onto the floor. He didn’t need the water, anyway. He didn’t need anything. He just wanted to go back to sleep…

“Lucien!” Azriel hissed louder.

“What?” Lucien groaned.

“Get up.”

“Why? It’s over. He won.”

Silence. And then… 

Azriel scoffed.

Lucien turned his head toward the empty cell on his right, looking away from Azriel.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Az demanded roughly. “So he caught you. Had you thrown into a dungeon and whipped. That’s enough for you to just throw in the towel and give up? Yeah, I’m sure it hurts like hell. I was in here you know. The whole time. And I would trade places with you if I could but I can’t so I need you to  _ get up.” _

Lucien tried to ignore him. His back was in ribbons from the metal tips affixed to the ends of the whip the guard had used. And with the faebane shackles still firmly clamped around his wrists and ankles, Lucien had no way to heal himself. His shredded tunic clung to his back, sticky with drying blood. 

“Look at me, godsdamnit,” Azriel demanded.

Lucien rolled his eyes and turned his head back to the left. Azriel was standing, his own faebane cuffs glowing blue as he tried to fight their power. When Lucien’s eyes met the Shadowsinger’s, he shook his head with disgust.

“Unbelievable. I didn’t think there was  _ anything _ that would make you give up on her.”

Elain.

Lucien’s chest tightened from pain that had nothing to do with lying face down on a stone floor. He failed to rescue her. To keep her safe. But that paled in comparison to the way he was failing her now. By surrendering to Beron’s will, Lucien was practically telling Elain he would no longer fight for her. How could he have done that?

_ Because what you feared has become real. _

Lucien ground his teeth together. No. He would not let this demon win. He would not give up on her. Not while he still drew breath.

Biting back against the pain, Lucien braced his hands against the floor once again. The torn flesh on his back spasmed in agony as he pushed himself up onto his knees. Everything still hurt, worse than it had when he woke, but he would endure all of it for her. Slowly, painfully, he got to his feet, steadying himself by holding onto the bars of the cell.

From the other side of the bars, Azriel’s scowl twisted into a victorious smile.

“I will  _ never  _ give up on her,” Lucien vowed through clenched teeth. “Whatever it takes, I will make sure she is safe.”

“Welcome back, brother.” Az reached through the bars as far as his cuffed wrists would allow and gently patted Lucien’s shoulder.

Lucien’s vision swayed and he glanced around for a stool or something to sit on. He found a bench against the wall and moved to sit, nausea and lightheadedness crashing over him. He reached for the water jug Azriel gave him and took several long gulps before realizing that might be all the water they would get. He set the jug down abruptly.

“Don’t worry,” Az said, “so far, they’ve been bringing fresh water twice a day.”

“Twice a day?” Lucien repeated, with a start. “How long have we been down here?”

“Two days,” Azriel answered grimly. “How much do you remember?”

“Nothing,” Lucien admitted. “Nothing since they first brought me in here.”

Az sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. “They’ve been back down here two more times since the night we were captured. They, uh…”

“Just tell me.”

“They tried to question you and both times you told them to go fuck themselves, so you were whipped… again.”

“No wonder everything hurts,” Lucien grunted. “Have you heard anything about Elain?”

The Shadowsinger shook his head. “Nothing.”

“We are fucked.”

Azriel nodded his reluctant agreement just as the door to the dungeon creaked open. Lucien groaned, wishing he was still unconscious. To his surprise, Eris appeared, cloaked and hooded.

“What are  _ you  _ doing here?” Lucien chided.

“Shut up and pay attention,” Eris shot back. “I’ve come to help.”

The eldest Vanserra glanced around the dungeon, checking each cell to ensure they were all empty, with the exception of Azriel’s and Lucien’s. 

“What could you possibly do to help?” Lucien grumbled. “Unless you can sneak Mother and Elain out of here, there’s not much you can do.”

“I can help your friend escape.”

Lucien’s head whipped around to Azriel, who stared at Eris with one eyebrow raised.

“How?”

Eris held up a small silver key. “With this.” He tossed it to Lucien, who held it up to the dim torchlight to examine it.

“We would have come sooner—”

“We?”

“Vesstan. He made the key. It’s an exact replica of the real key that unlocks the faebane shackles. Try it,” he said to Azriel.

Az took the key from Lucien’s outstretched hand and slid it into the lock of the shackle on his left wrist. With a soft click, the cuff unlocked and fell to the floor. He exchanged a sly grin with Lucien and quickly unlocked the other shackles on his wrist and ankles. The skin on Azriel’s wrists was peppered with angry red rashes.

“We can’t free both of you.” Lucien’s brother gave him a deeply apologetic look. “They truly weren’t sure the faebane would work on the Illryians, so we can claim its power gave out and that’s how he broke free.”

“No,” Az said firmly. “I’m not leaving Lucien behind.”

“You have to,” Lucien insisted. “It’s either you or neither of us. Even if I don’t make it out of here… find a way to get her home. Whatever it takes.”

“Whatever it takes,” Azriel repeated thickly, clasping Lucien’s forearm. Lucien gripped Azriel’s in return. 

“How do I get out?” Azriel said to Eris.

“The tunnel at the back of the dungeon,” Eris replied in a low whisper, pointing to the darkened corner at the opposite end from the stairs. “Vesstan is standing watch for you. He can help get you to the border.”

Azriel shook his head. “No need. I can use the shadows and be gone the moment I reach the tunnel.”

“Then go,” Lucien ordered. “Now.”

“Lucien—” Az began. 

“Go!” Eris hissed frantically. “You have less than three minutes! I only persuaded the guard to let me come down here to mock my little brother. Prick actually laughed as he opened the door...”

Azriel locked eyes with Lucien. “Go.”

“I’ll get help,” Azriel promised. He moved like a wraith on the wind and by the time Lucien blinked, Azriel had vanished into the shadows. Eris turned and began climbing the stairs.

“Eris, wait,” Lucien called.

His brother retraced his steps, coming back to the bars of Lucien’s cell.

“If at all possible,” Lucien pulled the pendant from his pocket and held it out to Eris, “can you please give this to Elain?”

Eris stared at the necklace as if it had fangs. “I don’t know if that’s possible.”

“Try, please?”

Eris sighed, holding his palm out for Lucien to deposit the necklace into his hand. “I’ll certainly try.”

“Thank you… brother.”

Eris offered him a tight-lipped smile before leaving the dungeons.


	36. Chapter 36

Elain was going out of her mind. It had been two days since Vesstan told them of Lucien’s capture and since then… nothing. No word. No show of public torture in the courtyard. At least, she assumed there hadn’t been. Anlyn believed if that were to happen, Beron would almost certainly require her presence. Elain was on edge, heart jumping to her throat every time the lock on the door clicked. And she knew Anlyn was feeling the same.

Another concerning factor was that they hadn’t seen Relleah since the night Lucien was caught. Normally, even if she couldn’t bring them their meals, she would at least pop in after the day’s chores were finished.

Over and over, Elain tried to tug on the bond, but the result hadn’t changed. Still, at least now she knew that it was due to the faebane and not from Lucien closing off that line of communication with her. He had come for her… despite everything they said to one another and all the bitter things they might have thought toward the other, he had come for her. That was the one thing she had to repeat to herself, temporarily easing the knot that never seemed to leave her stomach. There were a lot of things Elain doubted, but Lucien’s love for her was not one of them. He would always come for her. And he would never shut her out.

As if the thought of faebane was enough to summon its presence, a servant entered with their dinners on a small rolling cart. Anlyn rose from her perch on the window seat and addressed the girl.

“It’s Myrella, isn’t it?”

“Yes, my Lady,” the servant girl curtsied.

Anlyn waved an impatient hand. “That’s not necessary, dear. Just tell me, do you know where Relleah is?”

“Umm,” Myrella stammered, clearly not used to being addressed directly by name, “I believe I saw her this morning with Master Eris, ma’am. They were near the apothecary.”

Elain wanted to ask a dozen questions but refrained, knowing it was unlikely that the servant would know the answers and even if she did, she would probably be reprimanded for giving them.

“Very well,” Anlyn replied, wheeling the cart over to the window. “If you see Relleah, please tell her I wish to speak with her… Urgently.”

Myrella curtsied again and left the room as Anlyn lifted the lids off the dinner plates. The food smelled amazing, even more so considering Elain hadn’t eaten since breakfast yesterday. She had hoped if she fasted long enough, the faebane would wear off enough that she could contact Lucien. 

Which was what she told Anlyn this morning when asked why she wasn’t eating her breakfast. To Elain’s dismay, Anlyn told her it took several days—or weeks—for the faebane to be flushed from her system, depending on how long she had been ingesting it.

Knowing that skipping a few meals wouldn’t be enough to neutralize the faebane’s effects, Elain begrudgingly sat down and pulled her plate toward her. Roasted duck filets with orange hazelnut stuffing and a casserole of mashed sweetened potatoes. Elain resented the delicious food. She wanted to hate everything about this court but whoever was in charge down in the kitchens certainly knew how to prepare good food.

Once they finished their meal, Anlyn and Elain were sharing a massive slice of maple butterscotch cheesecake when there was a knock on the door. Whoever it was didn’t wait for them to reply before the lock clicked and the door swung open.

“Eris!” Anlyn cried, launching out of her seat and hurrying over to her eldest son.

“Shh!” Eris scolded, quickly closing the door behind him. “I don’t want Father to hear I’ve been anywhere near this room.”

“Any word?” Anlyn asked with wide, fearful eyes.

Eris moved further away from the door toward the center of the room. When he replied, he spoke to Elain. “Your friend, the Illyrian—”

“Azriel!” Elain exclaimed, wringing her hands with anxious energy.

“Yes, him,” Eris confirmed. “He escaped.”

Both Elain and Anlyn gasped.

“How?” 

Eris shot them a sly smile. “The key I gave him to unlock his faebane shackles probably had something to do with it.”

“Why are you helping us?” Elain demanded, crossing her arms over her chest and piercing him with a scrutinizing gaze. “You have no love for our court.”

“Beron has crossed too many lines this time,” Eris said. “I’m merely doing my part to level the playing field.”

Anlyn cleared her throat. “And what of—” She broke off, seemingly incapable of saying Lucien’s name. 

Eris’s resigned sigh made Elain’s stomach twist uncomfortably. “He’s alive.”

“Alive?” Elain repeated with dismay. 

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Eris fixed his gaze on the curtain rod behind Elain before replying. “They’ve definitely done a thorough job of trying to break his spirit… and his back.”

Anlyn let out a strangled cry of despair. Elain closed her eyes as a wave of nausea passed over her. If there was one thing she could rid the world of forever, it would be whips. They were vile, cruel methods of punishment and her poor Lucien had been on the receiving end of them entirely too many times.

“But he is alive,” Eris said again. “And in good enough spirits to ask me to give you this,” he added, reaching into his pocket.

Elain’s heart leapt when she saw her sun and dove pendant in Eris’s outstretched hand. She didn’t hesitate, snatching it up and clutching it tightly to her chest. When Beron’s men ambushed her in the woods, she feared it had been lost forever. She sniffled as unexpected tears slid down her cheeks. The chain was still broken... but chains could be mended. 

She felt slightly foolish for weeping over a piece of jewelry, but this necklace was so much more to her than a pretty bauble. It was the symbol of her mating bond—of her eternal promise to Lucien to be the other half of his soul in this life and the next. When she lost it on the day of her abduction, it felt like losing part of him.

But he had come for her… and brought the necklace with him. A twinge of fear twisted her heart at the implication of him not waiting to give it to her himself. As if he feared he may not get the opportunity before—

“I want to see him,” she exclaimed suddenly.

Eris blinked at her several times. “I’m sorry, Elain… Truly, I am. But it’s just not possible. I had a hard enough time getting down there once. I doubt very much that I would be able to make up a convincing enough story to go down again, much less one that justified taking you down there with me.”

“Then take me down there and lock me in a cell if you must,” Elain appealed. “Tell them I’ve started being uncooperative. I don’t care if I can’t come back up here. It’s wrong anyway. Lucien is down there in a cold, filthy cell and I’m here, wearing pretty dresses and being fed meals fit for nobility.”

“Elain…” Eris implored, “you don’t know what you’re asking.”

“Yes I do,” she insisted, fighting the urge to stomp her foot. “I belong with my mate.”

Eris cast a pleading look to his mother.

“Elain, dear,” Anlyn entreated, coming over and linking her arm through Elain’s. “I understand how badly you want to be down there with him, but Beron’s temper is on an extremely short string as it is. Perhaps we should wait to see if your friend Azriel manages to bring help.”

“But—”

“And in the meantime,” Anlyn went on, giving her son a pointed look, “Eris will try to think of a passable story for taking you down to the dungeon. Agreed?”

Eris clearly didn’t like the idea but nodded. “Agreed.”

“I suppose,” Elain mumbled. It was a compromise, at least.

“I’d better go,” Eris said. “Vesstan only guaranteed me ten minutes.”

“Oh, one more thing,” Anlyn added. “One of the servants said you spoke to Relleah this morning? I haven’t seen her in a few days and was hoping—”

“She has been working on a healing salve,” Eris explained. “For Lucien. She said she should have some ready to take down to him tonight.”

“I thought she was the head of housekeeping?” Elain puzzled.

“She is,” Eris replied. “But she is also one of the estate’s best healers.”

Anlyn let out a small relieved sigh. “Well, that’s something at least.”


	37. Chapter 37

The Whisperer.

“It’s here,” Briar breathed, gripping Rhys’s arm tightly. She stood frozen in place, staring out into the lake illuminated only by the strange red light high above them. The corded muscles of Rhys’s arm tensed as she gripped tighter. Glancing over at him, Briar’s shock was mirrored on Rhysand’s face.

And not just Rhys’s. Cass and Amren also stared up at the glowing red stone in horror and disgust. But that would mean—

_ Oh yes. They can all hear me now. _

“Show yourself,” Cassian growled.

_ Tsk… would that I could. But I have no form to take. _

“No form, huh?” Rhys goaded. “You aren’t the only one who can go inside others’ minds and take the reins.”

Briar watched as Rhys squeezed his eyes shut, his hands balled into fists. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead and he grunted, as if encountering resistance from some great force pushing back against him. He finally gasped, staggering back a few steps and panted as hard as if he’d just finished a sparring session with Cass or Az. 

“I can’t—” He struggled to catch his breath, but the voice of the Whisperer echoed throughout the cave before he could continue.

_ Can’t get through? Tsk tsk. Of course you can’t, Prythinian. I have no mind for you to infiltrate. _

“If you have no form,” Cassian growled, “and no mind… what the hells are you?”

_ I simply… am. _

Even as it spoke, the glowing red light above them seemed to beat in time with the Whisperer’s words.

“Go back to your own world,” Amren hissed, her lip curled up and teeth bared.

_ But I like it here. There are so many of you to torment. _

Too fast. This was all falling apart too fast. 

The most they had hoped for by coming down here was to find more clues on how to defeat the Whisperer. Or at best, trap it back in its tomb. They had hoped to explore the area, learn what they could from it, and return to Velaris to plan their attack. Only now did she realize how foolish they had been not to anticipate the Whisperer being here when they finally arrived.

“Rhys,” Cass urged, “we have to go back. Back to the surface. To Velaris.”

_ Here or there… it makes little difference. There is nowhere in this world you can go that I cannot follow. _

Amren let out a feral, guttural growl from deep within her throat. Her eyes, which were normally the color of dull pewter, suddenly glowed silver.

The Whisperer hissed viciously. Though it didn’t have a form, Briar somehow felt it shift its attention to Amren.

_ What are you? _

“Fuck around and find out, you spawn from hell,” Amren threatened. She nodded to Cassian, giving him some unspoken signal, and his wings flared as he prepared to take flight.

“Wait!” Briar cried.

Everyone’s eyes fell on her. 

“Just wait,” she said again, holding her hands out in front of her. “It said it has no form. So the worst it can do is get inside our heads and make us see our fears. We can still do what we need to do. We just have to have the strength to ignore it.”

_ Such a brave mortal girl… but you will soon learn just how  _ real  _ I can make your fears seem. _

Briar refused to quaver as she stared defiantly into the gloom. Slowly, Rhys, Cassian, and Amren moved closer to her until they stood together, staring up into the red pulsing light, refusing to back down from its challenge.

_ So be it. _

Despite being miles below ground, a cool breeze moved through Briar’s hair. Somehow, she knew the Whisperer had gone. Or at the very least, it was no longer using the red light above them to speak aloud to all of them.

“We need to work quickly,” Cassian said. “What are we looking for?”

“Anything,” Rhys replied.

“We’re going to have to split up,” Amren said.

Briar hated that idea, but the sheer size of the cavern would make it impossible to search as a group. They would be down here for days… if not weeks. Aside from the Whisperer, there was no telling what lurked in the dark waters of the lake before them. And their food supply was not infinite.

“Fine,” Rhys agreed. “Briar, you’re with me. Cass and Amren, you start in the opposite direction and we’ll meet in the middle on the other side.”

Rhysand’s second and his general wasted no time in obeying his command, setting off in one direction as Rhys and Briar moved in the other.

“I sure wish we knew what we were looking for,” Briar muttered.

“You and me both,” Rhys replied. 

********************

  
  


Over the next day and a half, their group searched what felt like every ounce of that cave. They went painstakingly slow, cautious not to miss a single thing. There were several alcoves and pockets carved out of the cave walls, leading to smaller caves that went nowhere. It was in one of those smaller outcropping caves Briar and Rhys decided to make their camp. Briar hoped Amren and Cass found something similar and weren’t having to sleep at the edge of the lake.

During their search, the Whisperer would manifest from time to time, sometimes using the glowing red stone at the center of the ceiling to communicate with all of them and other times, speaking directly to Briar from inside her mind. She could only assume that it was doing the same to the others.

Every time it appeared in her head, it repeated her fear over and over. Checking in with Rhys, he confirmed the Whisperer was doing the same with him. Briar had to clamp her teeth down on her tongue to keep her from asking what fears it showed Rhys. From her own experience, and from what Az, Elain, and Lucien had all said, the fears the Whisperer called up were unique to each person, but all had one thing linking them—they were all extremely personal fears.

“You know what it’s trying to do, right?” Rhys shoved a heavy stone off the narrow path and into the water, allowing them to pass.

“You mean by getting inside all our heads and trying to split us off one by one?”

“Precisely. I guess it thinks if it plays with our minds, it can distract us into making a mistake.”

“Or wanting to leave altogether,” Briar added.

_ For a mortal, you really are quite clever. _

The red stone pulsed in time with the Whisperer’s words.

“Oh, fantastic,” Briar deadpanned. “You’re back.”

From far across the lake, Cassian’s growl of frustration rang out, echoing off the cave walls.

_ Your winged friend has quite the temper. He is fun to play with. _

Briar had to turn away from the section of wall she was examining, hoping to find an inscription or some other clue. The pulsating red light above them was both distracting and nauseating.

“If you insist on being here,” Briar snapped, “you could at least answer our questions.”

_ Call it self-preservation, but I am not in the business of divulging the secrets of how to defeat me. _

“Fine, then tell us what you want? Why are you doing this? What is your purpose?”

The Whisperer laughed cruelly.  _ This  _ is  _ my purpose. I exist to feed off of your fears… to drink in your terror…. until there is nothing left to devour. _

The hair on Briar’s neck rose and she resisted the urge to shiver. That was precisely what the Whisperer wanted. And she would be damned if she gave it up without a fight.

“Why Elain?” She demanded. “You seemed fixated on her, more than the rest of us.”

_ Ahhhh, Elain. I could manipulate her fears so deliciously. The worst I can do for most people is whisper and make them imagine their fears. Her… I could make her  _ see  _ them. I could make them tangible and real. Ohhhhh when I discovered a Seer in your midst… imagine suddenly having the finest wine money could buy after centuries of drinking only pond water. Her fear tastes exquisite.  _

“You won’t win,” Briar declared firmly. 

_ Who’s to say I haven’t already? _

“Over here!” Cass called. “We found something!”

The Whisperer hissed as Rhys and Briar rushed along the narrow strip of land on the edge of the lake until they found Amren and Cass hunched over a stone carving.

“Is that a sarcophagus?” Briar asked with trepidation.

“I think it was modeled after one, yes,” Amren replied. “There’s a narrative inscribed on the side. Help me lift it so I can read the rest.”

Cassian and Rhys grunted as they lifted the tomb and turned it over to reveal the writing Amren was pointing at. Amren mumbled as she read through the passage once then motioned to Briar. “Paper and quill. Now.”

Briar hurried forward, digging in the satchel at her side. When she had a blank sheet of paper and quill handy, Amren said, “Write notes as I read this. We may need to refer back to it later.”

Briar nodded that she was ready and Amren began to read aloud.

“‘Long ago, the Mother poured out the Cauldron to create Prythian. But something else —something sinister and far older than our world itself also spilled from the Cauldron. Something that delighted in bringing one’s worst fears to life. 

“‘Breaking off two of the Cauldron’s four handles, the first seven High Lords created a tomb—’”

“They  _ broke  _ part of the Cauldron?” Cassian interrupted, horror painted on his face. “How did it not boil them for that?”

“The Whisperer was never meant to be here,” Amren said. “I imagine the Cauldron was just as angry that it was here as the rest of Prythian was. It may have even given up the handles willingly.”

“Do you think this is the same tomb?” Briar wondered. 

Cassian rapped his knuckles against the sarcophagus. “It’s metal, so they probably melted down the metal from the Cauldron and mixed it with iron to make it.”

Rhys kept shooting furtive glances up at the red stone above them. “Keep going, Amren.”

His second nodded and continued to read. “‘The High Lords used the tomb to trap the Voice of Fear and lock it away, deep underground where no one but themselves would know of its existence. This account is only written here, upon the monster’s bastille, both as the only written record of its existence and a warning to any who might open it. The seven High Lords vowed never to speak of it to anyone ever again.’”

Amren paused, giving Briar time to catch up as she scribbled furiously. “That’s why we couldn’t find anything about it in any of the libraries,” she said once she set the quill down.

“But I  _ did _ find a narrative about it,” Amren said. “It was vague, but from the account, the first High Lord of the Night Court returned to this cave two hundred years after they sealed away the ‘Voice of Fear’ as they called it.”

“Why would he do that?” Rhys shook his head, a mixture of shock and disappointment in his eyes. 

“He claimed he’d been having recurring dreams,” Amren said. “Dreams of terrible things happening to the ones he loved. They were the same things the Whisperer used to torment him with. He returned to the cave to ensure the Whisperer still remained safely imprisoned.”

Everyone seemed to be holding their breath waiting for Amren to continue her tale. Even the red stone where the Whisperer perched was still. Listening.

“According to the narrative,” Amren went on, “he went mad down here, believing he could still hear the Whisperer despite it being locked away. When he finally returned home, his family had believed him dead. He told no one but his grandson about the cave, but the grandson assumed it was just the ramblings of an old senile fae on the verge of fading. Despite not believing him, he still wrote the story down anyway at his grandfather’s request.”

“Fading?” Briar interrupted with a perplexed expression.

“Dying,” Rhys replied. “When the fae die of old age, it’s called fading because they literally fade into nothing.”

Briar’s eyes went wide. She imagined Rhys with white hair and translucent, able to see right through him. 

“But then how did it get out?” Cassian asked, leaning against the stone wall and crossing his arms. “If the first High Lord of Night didn’t release it?”

“How  _ did  _ you get out?” Rhys asked, addressing the question to the red stone in the ceiling. “And what  _ is  _ that thing anyway?”

_ Consider it a conduit. _

“Well, obviously,” Rhys bit back. “But what is it doing here?”

_ That, I truly do not know. All I know is that it amplifies my capabilities. As to how I escaped…  _

A beam of red light shot from the stone and illuminated the opposite side of the sarcophagus… and the crack down its side. From the angle they tilted the tomb for Amren to read the inscription, it wasn’t visible.

_ When the Cauldron cracked, I was set free. _

“The war,” Rhys breathed.

“What was it Lucien told us?” Amren wondered. “That when the Cauldron broke, it released a ripple across Prythian? Isn’t that what Bryaxis said?”

The Whisperer suddenly let out a piercing shriek that made the entire cave shake.

_ DO NOT MENTION THAT LOATHSOME CREATURE! _

Their small group stared at one another in bewilderment. Slowly, a feral grin spread across Briar’s mouth. “What? Bryaxis?”

The Whisperer howled again, as if the word caused it physical pain. The red stone in the ceiling dimmed.

Rhys returned Briar’s predatory smile and said, “Well, well, well. It looks like we finally found something that  _ you  _ fear, mighty Whisperer.”


	38. Chapter 38

Beron’s dungeon had a leak.

Lucien knew this because the sound of steadily dripping water kept him awake the entire night. He was almost grateful that being whipped repeatedly rendered him unconscious for the majority of his time here. Once he was conscious and alert, it had been impossible to fall asleep. Between the putrid smell and the annoying ever-present dripping, combined with the damp stone bench, there had been no chance of him sleeping.

Though shortly after Azriel’s escape, a female servant came with a salve she claimed would speed up the healing process on his back. The guard unlocked the door to admit her entry into his cell. He locked the door behind her, telling her he would return in twenty minutes to let her back out.

“I would just leave it for you,” she said, “but given the location of your wounds, I don’t know that you’d be able to administer it yourself.”

Lucien shrugged, stripping off the tattered remains of his tunic and laying it on the cold stone bench. He gingerly lowered himself down onto his stomach before gesturing for her to go ahead.

She knelt and heaped a glob of the ointment onto her fingers. Lucien sucked in a sharp breath when she smeared the salve onto his raw back.

She yanked her hand back. “I’m sorry!”

“Just… keep going,” Lucien said through clenched teeth.

Somehow, he managed to remain still and quiet while she finished her work. When she was done, she took several steps back and wiped her hand on her apron. “You’ll need to let it set for at least twenty minutes,” she ordered.

Carefully, Lucien sat up. “I suppose I’ll cancel all of my evening activities then,” he glanced around the bleak cell and snorted at his own sarcasm.

The servant looked as if she couldn’t decide between laughing or wincing. With a pang, Lucien knew Elain would have rolled her eyes and laughed.

He glanced down at the shredded tunic and wished he hadn’t taken it off. Though the back was ruined, it had still provided some semblance of warmth in that dank, dreary cell. Plus, the servant’s eyes kept flitting over his bare chest and stomach. He cleared his throat and crossed his arms, the movement tugging the barely healing skin of his back painfully. The salve was a poor substitute for his natural healing powers, but with the faebane shackles still securely fastened around his wrists, it was better than nothing. He was at least glad that the shackles weren’t connected by chains, allowing his arms free range of movement. 

He felt as if he knew the servant, though he couldn’t place how. It had been so long since he lived here, it was unlikely any of the same staff still remained. Still, she was familiar to him and it nagged at his memory that he didn’t remember who she was.

And perhaps it was just the sense of forgotten familiarity, but he felt as if she was looking at him like she knew him. She looked to be around his age, which meant if he did know her, he would have known her as children, not adults. He closed his eyes and combed through long-forgotten memories.

Memories of playing seek and hide down in the laundry rooms while the laundresses fussed. Of running through the kitchens and swiping fruit from platters being prepared for banquets. Of exchanging notes in secret during lessons.

She was gathering her supplies, awaiting the guard’s return, when Lucien exclaimed, “Relleah!”

She dropped her basket in surprise, and when she looked up at him, her eyes were wide.

“Relle, is that really you?” He marveled, though he knew without a doubt it was her. She still had the same almond-shaped green eyes and marigold-colored hair, though she covered most of it with a kerchief. 

“Hullo, Lucien,” she replied as she knelt to retrieve her basket, not meeting his eyes.

“By the Cauldron, why didn’t you tell me it was you?”

She gave a half-hearted shrug. The creaking sound of the door at the top of the stairs made her jolt. “Damn,” she muttered. She tugged at a golden chain from the pocket of her apron, checking the pocket watch attached. “Twenty minutes, my ass.”

“Nice to see you haven’t changed,” he chuckled, though even that tiny movement made his back throb with pain.

“Listen,” Relle went on, “I just wanted to tell you I’ve seen and talked to both of them. Your mother and Elain.”

Lucien’s stomach somersaulted. “Elain! How are they? Are they alright?”

“They’re both fine,” Relleah said hurriedly. “I’m going to try to come back tomorrow. I’ll tell them I need to reapply the ointment or something.”

Lucien barely heard her after she said both Elain and his mother were unharmed. An enormous weight lifted from his chest. He still had to find a way out of here, but it made his own suffering more bearable knowing they were both safe. 

“Relle…”

The guard returned, unlocking the door and swinging it open just wide enough for Relleah to slip through. As she was being escorted up the stairs, Lucien called out to her. 

“Thank you... For the ointment.”

In the few moments it took for Lucien to replay the encounter with Relle in his mind, the dripping from the ceiling had quickened. There were no windows in the dungeons, but the air felt more humid. Lucien was almost certain it had rained recently.

By his reckoning, it was roughly midmorning and so far, Relleah hadn’t returned. He couldn’t believe she was still here. The lighting had been poor the previous night, but he was almost certain he’d seen the blue stripe on her sleeve. The one that identified her as Head of House. If she had ascended to the head of housekeeping, she was at least paid a halfway decent wage and had comfortable living quarters.

He hoped she would be able to return. Not only did he long for someone friendly to talk to, but his back had begun to itch. He could go for more of that salve right about now.

The door to the dungeon squeaked open.

“Well, that was fast,” he muttered with a smirk. Though the footsteps approaching sounded too heavy to be Relleah’s. Glancing up, he was dismayed to see three guards standing on the other side of his cell door with faebane chains dangling from their hands.

“Isn’t that overdoing it?” He groused, holding up his hands to reveal the faebane shackles still clamped around his wrists. 

None of the guards spoke as they secured the chains around his bare waist and, for good measure, one around his neck.

“Definitely overdoing it,” he muttered as they ushered him forward.

They climbed the stairs of the dungeon and led him down a corridor that he knew opened out onto the courtyard. Still, just to rattle their own chains, Lucien said, “I’m glad Beron gave you permission to take me for a walk. I was getting rather bored down there.”

One of the guards growled at him while the other two maintained their stony silences. When they reached the courtyard square, they attached the chains to a post Lucien unfortunately knew all too well.

He sighed deeply. Very well then. If this was to be his end, he would die with his head held high. Beron could break his body into dust, but long ago, Lucien had taken away Beron’s ability to break his spirit… and had no plans to give that up.

Slowly, the courtyard began to fill as passersby noticed him and lingered to see what was going on. From the position of the sun, Lucien knew he had been out there for at least three hours before Beron finally made his appearance.

He approached Lucien with deliberate steps, halting a few feet away from him. Despite himself, Lucien flinched at the sound of Beron’s sword being drawn from its scabbard.

“It would be so easy,” Beron sneered quietly, using the tip of the sword to lift Lucien’s chin, “to just cleave your head from your shoulders. So quick.”

“Then do it,” Lucien retorted.

“You don’t deserve a quick death,” Beron said. “You deserve to suffer.”

Beron sheathed his sword and returned to the dais at the front of the courtyard and took a seat in a marble throne carved to resemble a maple tree. He motioned to someone Lucien couldn’t see and then gave Lucien a feral grin as two guards led Anlyn and Elain onto the terrace.

Lucien’s emotions warred within him. His heart called out to Elain, longing for her. To hold her. It pulled on him as if she were the center of his gravity. Despite all that, he wished for the guards to take her away, out of sight. He didn’t want her to see them kill him. Wasn’t sure if he could maintain his steadfast resolve with her beautiful, expressive doe-brown eyes locked on him.

As they were now. He looked back into them and the first thought that coursed through his mind was that Elain was not entirely unhurt. The remnants of a black eye were mostly healed but still evident. Fire coursed through Lucien’s veins, though with the faebane shackles and chains, its spark was snuffed out before it could break the surface of his skin.

Lucien was vaguely aware of his brothers joining Beron on the dais. Anlyn was forced into a seat beside the High Lord and though it wasn’t as noticeable as Lucien’s, she too had small cuffs of faebane around her wrists, hidden by the sleeves of her gown.

Elain was ushered to the other post in the center of the courtyard, roughly ten yards from Lucien’s. It pained him to have her this close and still not be able to reach her. Pained and enraged him when he saw the guard secure her own cuffs to chain on the post.

“Why is that necessary?” He roared up at Beron.

“Oh, just precautions,” Beron crooned. “Your little wife is pluckier than I expected.”

“Mate,” Lucien and Elain corrected as one.

“How endearing,” Beron’s upper lip curled. 

Elain stood next to the pole she was chained to, head held high with an expression of bold defiance. If she was afraid or distressed, she showed no sign of it. Lucien had never been prouder of her.

He wished he could send that pride and love down their bond. He tried for what felt like the millionth time to reach for her but even now, with her right in front of him, he was met with nothing but a solid wall of resistance. Godsdamned faebane.

“I know you helped your Illyrian friend escape,” Beron said with a sneer. “I don’t know how, but I know you helped him. You bastards really tend to rally together, don’t you?”

Lucien didn’t reply. Didn’t even glance in Beron’s direction. His whole focus was locked onto Elain. His mate. For whom he would sacrifice everything, including his own life.

“You have proven to be a thorn in my side from the day you were born,” Beron continued. “And today, you shall finally get what you deserve for being an embarrassment and a traitor to the name Vanserra.”

Beron flicked his wrist to someone Lucien couldn’t see, but he heard the unmistakable sound of a whip being drawn back at the same time Elain screamed.

Lucien clenched his teeth so hard he wasn’t certain he hadn’t chipped one. The lashes didn’t sting as badly as he expected, though he wondered if that was partially due to his entire back already being numb from the whippings down in the dungeons. He also wondered if the salve Relleah made was only for healing or if it had some numbing element as well.

Either way, the lashings he could endure. They were nothing compared to the cries coming from Elain every time the whip cracked into him. Those were what would break him. 

“No, please!” She begged, beseeching Beron to stop. “Please!”

Beron held up a hand and the whip went slack in the guard’s hand. “By all means,” Beron said, cocking his head to the side. “If you wish to take his place…”

“You have to swear to let him go,” Elain said, “and I’ll do it.” There was not a hint of fear in her voice. No hesitation. 

“No!” Lucien roared, straining against the chains. “Do what you will to me, but  _ do not touch her.” _

“But she has volunteered?” Beron replied nastily. 

Lucien continued to strain against the shackles, too aware of history repeating itself as once again, he struggled against Beron’s chains to get to the female he loved. Though this time… Fear wasn’t strong enough of a word for what was coursing through Lucien. If Beron harmed her… If he  _ whipped  _ her— 

“I will burn you and your entire court to the ground if you lay another finger on her,” Lucien promised, his eyes lingering on Elain’s healing black eye. And despite the faebane, flames flickered in his eyes. “Do whatever you want with me. Have me whipped until I’m dead. Behead me. Run your sword through my heart. But touch her, and I will see you turn to ash.”

“You’d give up your life to spare hers?” Beron spat with disdain. “Sentimental pathetic fool. You always were my weakest son.”

“If I hear that word from your loathsome tongue again,” a deep booming voice seethed, “I will cleave it from your mouth. Do not dare presume to claim what is mine.”


	39. Chapter 39

Helion stood at the far end of the courtyard, fists balled and eyes gleaming with rage. Lucien blinked several times, as if to convince himself it was real and not a hallucination brought on by the pain. But from the way Beron’s sneer deepened, Lucien knew it had to be real.

His vision blurred slightly, but it was still clear enough to see that behind Helion stood several others Lucien recognized.

Thesan and Kallias approached, both scowling at Beron and the entire display before them. Tarquin and Feyre stood on either side of Helion, Tarquin armed with a spear while Feyre’s water wolves prowled the edges of the courtyard. And Tamlin.

Tamlin paced behind the rest of them in his colossal beast form.

Tears sprung into Lucien’s eyes that had nothing to do with the biting pain from the whip. They had come. All of them. Every court in Prythian stood united against Beron’s tyranny. 

Helion stepped up beside Lucien, snatching the whip from the trembling hand of the guard. “If this touches my son again,” Helion growled, “I will end you. Am I understood?”

The guard nodded furiously before disappearing into the throngs of onlookers.

“Precisely what do you think you’re doing?” Beron roared. “You cannot come into my court uninvited and—”

“After what you have done, Beron, you’ll be lucky if you still have a court,” Thesan snarled.

“Which will be addressed later,” Helion declared. “But now, you will release my son, his mate, and _my_ mate.”

“I’ll do no such thing,” Beron hissed. “They belong to _me.”_

“Father, please,” Eris beseeched, “it’s over.”

Beron whipped around to his eldest son. “Traitorous filth. The first sign of resistance has you running scared?”

Tarquin stepped forward. “Our armies are waiting. Do you truly want to declare civil war against the rest of Prythian?”

“You can’t fight six courts on your own,” Eris said. “And I won’t die for the sake of your revenge. For what you’ve done, you’ll be lucky if they let you keep your lands.”

“You are all in _my_ court!” Beron raged. “None of you have any authority here. And as for you,” he pointed a finger at Helion, “I’ll see you burn for stealing _my_ wife.”

A ball of flame erupted from Beron’s outstretched hand, hurtling straight for Helion. Lucien had to duck to avoid it colliding with his head. Helion’s own power surged as blinding light enveloped the courtyard, swallowing the fireball. Beron continued to send streaks of fire screaming toward Helion, though none of them reached the High Lord of the Day Court. Helion kept throwing up shields of sheer sunlight, which burned hotter than any flame Beron could manifest.

All of Beron’s attention was focused on incinerating Helion. As such, he didn’t notice Tamlin’s hulking beast form approaching until he was practically on top of him. Tamlin knocked Beron to the ground and held him in place with one massive clawed paw pressed against his chest.

“Enough, Beron,” Tamlin growled.

Kallias gave a swift order and several sentries bearing the Winter Court seal on their tunics appeared, securing Beron in faebane shackles and hoisted him up off the ground, escorting him inside the estate. 

The moment Beron was secured, Helion and Feyre launched forward. Feyre ran to Elain, unlocking the cuffs from her wrists. Helion moved to where Lucien sagged against his chains, muttering something under his breath. In a flash of blinding white light, the chains and cuffs fell away from Lucien, clanking to the stone courtyard floor. Without the chains securing him to the post, he slumped to the ground.

“Lucien!” A blur of lavender and lace rushed over to him and soft familiar hands cupped his face.

“Oh, my Lucien!” Elain cried, peppering his face with kisses. 

His back still screamed in agony, but he hardly noticed. He took Elain in his arms and stroked a hand through her hair as Elain sobbed against his chest.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” she wept. “I’ve never been so scared of anything in my life! I can’t lose you. I can’t!”

“Shhh,” Lucien whispered against her hair. “You’re okay. We’re okay.”

“He nearly killed you!” Elain cried. “Oh gods, Lucien I’m so _so_ sorry.”

Despite his injuries, Lucien leaned back. Elain’s hair stuck to her tear-streaked face and the purple bruise around her eye seemed more pronounced up close. She was beautiful.

“This is not your fault,” he murmured gently, smoothing the tangled hair away from her face as fresh tears spilled.

“I swear I will never shut you out again,” Elain promised, wrapping her arms around his bare chest.

Lucien hissed in pain as her hands grazed his back.

“I’m sorry!” She jerked her arms back before craning her neck to peer over his shoulder. The noise she made was somewhere between a wail and a growl.

Helion cleared his throat gently.

Lucien forgot his father was even still there. He forgot they were still in a crowded courtyard, full of people staring and whispering.

Lucien struggled to rise, his knees buckling. Elain unfastened the clasp for the cloak around her neck and draped it over Lucien’s bare bloodied back. She tugged his arm around her shoulders and though she staggered a bit from his weight, she remained standing.

“Do you want any help?” Helion offered.

Elain’s hand around Lucien’s waist tightened her grip.

“I think she can handle me,” Lucien smiled. 

“Oh, I have no doubt about that.”

Elain’s grin widened as she helped Lucien maneuver out of the courtyard and up the stairs into the estate manor.

Lucien offered her a feeble chuckle. “Well, well. Looks like you’re the one coming to my rescue this time.”

Elain was careful to grip him low around the waist, below the fresh lash wounds. “I will _always_ come to your rescue.”

“I thought that was my job,” Lucien teased weakly.

“No,” Elain breathed. “It’s both of ours. From today forward, we take care of each other.”

As they slowly made their way up the stairs, Lucien eyed Helion still down in the courtyard. Another flash of white light and the cuffs on his mother’s wrists were broken. He turned away, back to Elain, as Helion and his mother embraced, though he still heard the cry of relief Helion breathed when Anlyn folded herself into his arms. 

********************  
  


The Whisperer shuddered.

Or, at least that was what Briar took the quavering of the red stone in the ceiling to mean.

_No. No! They cannot unify. They cannot!_

Rhys glanced at each of his companions, and Briar imagined her perplexion mirrored his. The Whisperer was muttering to itself, seemingly unaware that it was still using the stone as an amplifier.

“Everything okay there, beastie?” Cassian taunted.

_Nothing that cannot be rectified with a few haunting visions._

“No!” Briar’s voice rang out clear and loud. “You will torment our friends no longer. You will torment _us_ no longer.”

_You cannot hide from fear. There is nowhere you can go that fear cannot follow._

Rhys edged toward Cassian, muttering something Briar couldn’t make out. Cass’s eyes flashed with terror but then settled into resigned determination as he gave Rhys a small nod.

Briar grasped Rhys’s hand and he squeezed hers in return. With his free hand, Rhys took hold of Amren’s, who in turn linked her arm with Cassian’s. They all stared up definitely at the Whisperer, who hissed from their display of unity. 

_Do you all know each other’s fear? You preach of camaraderie and unity, but every single one of you fears being alone. Isolated. Unloved._

_You,_ the light from the stone concentrated on Briar _, you fear your mortal body failing and your memory fading into nothingness while your friends live on._

 _And you,_ the light shifted to Rhys, _you fear that no matter what you do, your sacrifice will never be enough. That you will fail your people and be remembered as a monster._

Briar tightened her grip on Rhysand’s hand, refusing to let her fear dominate her.

 _You,_ the Whisperer growled as the light shifted to Amren. She bared her teeth, her eyes glowing silver once more. _Your fears have no form. No tangibility. Yet the one that screams louder than the others is the fear of losing control of the power harnessed within you and leaving this world in rubble._

 _And as for you_. The light hovered over Cassian. _Your fear_ is _fear. You tremble and quake at the shapeless darkness that swallows worlds. You fear_ —

The temperature of the cave dropped suddenly, making Briar’s teeth chatter. “What in the—”

A low hiss cut her off as the light emanating from the red stone began flashing rapidly. 

_No! Get that thing out of here!_

“Bryaxis,” Rhys crooned. “So glad you could join us.”

A wave of darkness rippled through the cave. Everywhere Bryaxis moved, the light was swallowed up.

 _This is not your domain!_ The Whisperer practically screamed. _Begone at once!_

Bryaxis swept over their heads, a shapeless cloud of nightmares and death. Without warning, the entire cave was plunged into darkness as Bryaxis covered the stone gem in the ceiling. The darkness was so complete, Briar couldn’t see her hand in front of her face.

Slowly, while trying to block out the sounds of hissing and roaring and growling as Bryaxis and the Whisperer clashed, she sidled over to where Cassian stood, fixed in place. She moved close enough to him for her shoulder to brush his. 

“You okay?” She muttered under her breath.

Cassian’s throat bobbed as he gave her a tiny imperceptible nod. “When this is over, I’m going to need a very stiff drink.”

The cave was suddenly bathed in a red glow again as Bryaxis was thrown off the stone. It whirled around, razor sharp teeth and glowing eyes amid an inky black cloud that rippled at its edges. 

_“The stone!”_ Bryaxis shouted. _“The stone is an anchor. If it is destroyed, the Whisperer cannot remain here.”_

 _Curse you, vile beast!_ The Whisperer bellowed back.

Rhys surged upward toward the stone, but a pulse of red light flung him backward. Cassian launched into the air but was met with the same resistance. No matter how hard they tried, the halo of red light surrounding the stone would not let them past.

 _“You must relinquish your fear in order to reach the stone!”_ Bryaxis roared. _“Only then can you destroy it.”_

Briar rushed over to Amren. “What can we do? Cass and Rhys can’t seem to get through and we can’t fly up there!”

Amren closed her eyes and dipped her head. “We can only pray that the Mother hears our pleas...” She dropped to her knees and pulled a dusty old leather-bound book from her bag. “And hope I can find something in this damn thing,” she muttered, hastily flipping through pages.

Above them, the clamoring sounds of Bryaxis and the Whisperer battling still raged while Rhys and Cassian struggled furiously against the barrier of light.

“We can’t just say a prayer to an ancient goddess and hope she hears us,” Briar groused. But what could she do? She was only a mortal. And if all these powerful magic beings around her couldn’t get through, what hope was there for her.

She reached for the siphon, still tucked safely in her breast pocket. The little blue stone glowed softly in her hand. Even if it was a fool’s hope, she had to try. For Azriel. For her friends. And for herself.

Clutching the stone in both hands, she brought it to her chest and called out. “Bryaxis!” 

The blur of darkness appeared above her, eclipsing the orb of red light from the ceiling. 

“Can you get me up there?”

Sharp teeth formed what Briar hoped was a smile. _“Hold on.”_

“To what, exactly?”

Her feet left the stone floor of the cave as she rose on a phantom wind. As they drew closer to the stone, Briar saw flashes of her fears as moments frozen in time. She saw herself falling into the black abyss of water beneath her. Saw Azriel and the others lay flowers and pebbles at her memorial. Saw Azriel with another faceless female. She closed her eyes and let all the images blend together and fall away from her.

Rhysand’s gasp made her open her eyes. She was close enough to the red stone now she could almost touch it. She was also close enough to discover it wasn’t a stone at all. It resembled a much larger version of the blood rubies that Tarquin once sent Rhys, Feyre, and Amren, which were now the Inner Circle’s favorite paperweights. She stared into the enormous jewel, each of the countless facets like mirrors.

Mirrors.

Mirrors were made of…

“Glass,” Briar murmured.

But instead of reflecting her face, she saw the fears of her friends. One of the facets in particular drew her attention. It was darkened, but still without any light shining through it, she could see Elain and Lucien, holding on tightly to one another as they walked up a set of stairs Briar didn’t recognize. Elain had a bruise around her eye and Lucien walked gingerly, as if his entire body ached, but they were alive. And together. But most importantly, no longer afraid.

The scene shifted, showing Feyre beside the other High Lords. It shifted again, showing Nesta in Illyrian battle leathers, an entire legion of Illyrian soldiers, both male and female, awaiting her command. It shifted once more, showing her beloved Azriel walking beside Eris. 

“We can do this,” she said to herself and then, to Bryaxis, “take me back a bit. Okay, that’s far enough.”

She pulled her arm back and hurtled the siphon into the glowing red jewel as hard as she could. The moment the blue stone left her hand, Bryaxis plunged them down, down, down. Further than the floor of the cave. She had barely a heartbeat to draw breath before Bryaxis dragged her down into the dark cold lake as the red jewel affixed to the ceiling exploded into thousands of shards of glass.


	40. Chapter 40

Briar gasped for breath as she dragged herself onto the bank of the lake. The red light bathing the cave was gone, making it difficult to see around her. But with a relieved sigh, she heard more than saw Rhysand and Cassian helping a shivering wet Amren up onto the stones.

Cassian lit several of the torches that lined the wall in sconces. 

“Wh–where’s Bryaxis?” Briar said.

“Hopefully, back in his dark little pit at the House,” Cass shuddered.

“You should be proud of yourself,” Briar replied, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. Cass offered her a little smile.

“She’s right, you know,” Rhys added. He dug around in their packs until he found dry clothes for all of them. 

“Where’s the Whisperer?” Briar wondered aloud once she had stripped off her soaking wet clothes and changed into a dry set.

“Gone,” replied a voice she didn’t recognize. A female fae form materialized above the surface of the water, a faint golden glow emitting from her. Her hair fell in ripples all the way down to her hips. Her flawless face looked as if it could have been carved from porcelain. “The Whisperer has been vanquished thanks to you. And to answer your first question, Bryaxis is here.”

Tendrils of darkness curled around the female’s shoulders, colliding with the glow of light around her. Almost as if the creature was content. Happy.

“Who are you?” Briar asked, squinting as the light around the female grew brighter.

“And why is Bryaxis draped over your shoulders like a scarf?” Cass muttered.

“I am the one you call the Mother.”

The Mother. The benevolent and nurturing creator of Prythian.

Cassian’s eyes widened as he dropped to one knee and dipped his head in reverent honor. Out of the corner of her eye, Briar could see Rhys and Amren doing the same. Unsure if she should do the same, she wobbled a bit, halfway between standing and kneeling. 

“Rise, warriors,” the Mother commanded.

They obeyed, returning to their feet.

“How is it the Whisperer has been destroyed?” Rhys asked. 

“Alas, these creatures can never truly be destroyed,” the Mother replied. “Not completely. They are essential to the balance of our worlds, though occasionally, they become twisted and spiteful, as this Whisperer did.”

“Then, where did it go?” Briar puzzled.

“It simply… went.” 

Briar’s brow creased. “I don’t understand.”

The Mother stepped forward, off the surface of the water and onto the stone beside her.

“When you shattered the anchor,” the Mother explained, “you broke the tether the Whisperer had secured here in Prythian. Once it was no longer linked to the world, I could banish it back into the beyond.”

“Oh.”

“It should have never been able to enter this world in the first place,” the Mother went on. “They serve their purpose when they remain amorphous. But the Cauldron is a sentient being just like you and I are, and sometimes its actions cannot be controlled. Even by me. When I poured it out to create this world, the Cauldron also spilled the anchor and the emotion that was tethered to it.”

“But why would the Cauldron do that?” Rhys asked. Briar could see Amren behind him, hunched over a piece of parchment and scribbling furiously.

The Mother merely shrugged. “Because it can, I suppose.”

“Well, can we please pass a memo to it to not spill any more surprises during our lifetimes?” Cassian griped. 

“You have all done Prythian a great service,” the Mother pronounced. “I would bestow upon you a reward as thanks.”

“Great Mother, you are too kind,” Rhys said. “But we did not do it for the possibility of a reward.”

“He’s right,” Briar supplied. “We did it to save Prythian.”

“To save Prythian,” the Mother repeated. “A world that did not birth you or raise you. A world that, before you met your friends, was cruel to you. And yet you risked your life to save it.”

Briar’s cheeks flushed. “It’s what any decent person would have done.”

The Mother stared at her with a piercing gaze. Briar tried not to shift uncomfortably under such heavy and reverent scrutiny. 

“The Whisperer delighted in attempting to make your fears come true,” the Mother finally said. “For most of you, you already possess the power to circumvent your fears from becoming real, however challenging that might be. Though there is one among you that lacks that power, for her fear is out of her control entirely. Allow me to rectify that.”

The Mother’s gaze was fixed on Briar. “You fear your mortal years catching up to you while those you love remain unchanged by time. If it is your true desire, I will grant you that which you yearn for. I will make you immortal, but I caution you not to make this choice lightly. Though it will eliminate that which you fear, it is not devoid of hardships.”

Briar’s mouth fell open in surprise. Immortal. The Mother was offering to grant her immortality. She never expected to have the choice and now that she did, she was frozen in place. She glanced up at Rhys.

“This is not a decision any of us can make for you,” he said gently. “But whatever you choose, you will  _ always  _ be part of our family… And Az will love you no matter what choice you make.”

Briar looked to Amren. “Would you undo the choice you made? If you could?”

Amren cocked her head to the side before giving Briar a wry smile. “Not in a thousand lifetimes.”

Cassian came closer to Briar and pressed something into her palm. “I think you already know what your decision will be. And you’ve already proven to have the courage to do the impossible.”

Briar opened her hand and saw Azriel’s blue siphon. With an unshakable sigh, she replaced the stone back in the breast pocket of her tunic. When she looked up at the Mother, her voice was strong and confident as she said, “I wish to be immortal.”

“Very well,” the Mother replied. Briar squeezed her eyes shut and thought only of Azriel as the cave was flooded with white, blinding light. In a blink, the light was gone, except for the soft glow surrounding the Mother and the torches on the wall.

When Briar opened her eyes, she didn’t feel any different, though from the way the others were gaping at her, she assumed it had worked.

“That was… not what I expected,” Briar said tentatively. 

The Mother regarded her with a bemused expression. “I am curious what you expected?”

“Well… I expected it to hurt, I guess.”

“Gifts should not be accompanied by pain,” the Mother replied. 

“Tell that to the Cauldron,” Amren muttered. 

With a giddy smile, Briar reached up to her ears. Disappointment and shame flooded through her when she realized they were still rounded, not tapers as the High Fae. She supposed she shouldn’t be greedy. After all, she had only asked the Mother to make her immortal, not High Fae.

“Thank you,” she said, trying not to sound ungrateful as she took a step toward her friends… And nearly staggered backwards at the sudden weight on her back. 

“Wha—” She reached up and felt the leathery wing protruding from her back. She whipped her neck around in both directions, trying to get a better view of them. 

“I thought you might prefer to soar through the air alongside your beloved instead of always being carried,” the Mother explained. 

“Oh, thank you!” Briar gushed, launching forward and embracing the Mother tightly. Bryaxis bristled at the uninvited contact, which only made Briar laugh and hug the Mother harder.

“I am glad you are pleased,” the Mother beamed after Briar released her.

Cassian and Rhys were admiring Briar’s new wings. Cass gave a soft whistle of appreciation, making Amren roll her eyes. 

“Illyrian males,” she muttered. 

“Alas, my time has come. I must return to my own plane,” the Mother said softly, and it took Briar a moment to realize she wasn’t talking to any of them. Bryaxis curled tighter around the Mother’s shoulders and she raised a delicate hand to stroke the creature. “Will you finally join me?” Though from the sadness in her eyes, Briar suspected she knew what Bryaxis’s answer would be.

_ “For the first time in the eons of my lonesome existence, I feel like a part of this world. I have friends.” _

“Then you mustn’t abandon them,” the Mother murmured.

Briar watched in fascination as the dark creature of nightmares folded itself around the Mother in what could only be a loving embrace. “Perhaps in another few millennia, you will be ready to come back to me.”

She said it as if a few thousand years wasn’t a long time at all. Though, Briar mused, to a celestial goddess who creates worlds, it probably wasn’t that long at all.

“Until we meet again,” the Mother bid farewell to them all and dissolved into light. 

The cave was once more plunged into semi-darkness, though it seemed Bryaxis had also vanished into thin air. Rhys picked up his pack from the ground and grabbed a torch from a wall sconce. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m beyond ready to go home.”

“Lead the way,” Briar said, nodding her agreement. 

“We’ll give you your first flying lesson on the way home,” Cass promised with a grin. 

***************************  
  


Once inside the manor, Elain hesitated at the first hallway.

“I… don’t know where I’m going,” she admitted.

Lucien lifted his head a bit and glanced down both ends of the hall. “Left,” he murmured. “Then the second right, up the marble staircase, and then the last door on the left at the end of the hall.”

Elain followed his directions, which deposited them right in front of the double doors leading to his room. Carefully, she reached for the door handle without loosening her grip on Lucien. The door swung open and a rush of marigold greeted them.

“Relle!” Elain gasped.

“I’m sorry,” Relleah breathed. “I would have come outside to help, but—”

“I understand. Can you help me get him to the bed? I think my arm’s gone numb.”

Relleah slipped underneath Lucien’s other arm and together, they maneuvered him over to the bed, laying him face down on top of the comforter. 

“Do you have any more of that ointment?” Elain asked, removing the cloak from around Lucien’s shoulders. 

“By the Cauldron,” Relleah muttered when she saw Lucien’s back. “I’ll get some.”

She moved quickly to the bookcases in the sitting room and returned with a tin of salve. After a brief moment’s hesitation, she handed the tin to Elain.

Elain accepted the ointment and sat on the edge of the bed. Relleah promptly moved to close the drapes and add another log to the fire. As gently as she could, Elain dabbed her fingers in the ointment and applied it to each lash wound on her beloved’s marred back. She marveled at his resolve not to make a sound as she administered the medication, until Relleah motioned for her to come around to the other side of the bed.

Elain finished applying the ointment and rose from the bed, coming around to stand beside Relle. Lucien’s eyes were closed, and he breathed in a slow, steady rhythm.

“Honestly, it’s a miracle that he’s able to sleep,” Relle remarked. 

Elain didn’t reply as she watched Lucien slumber. After a moment, she lowered herself until her knees rested on the floor so that her face was level with his. She swept strands of hair away from his face and kissed his brow, which was mercifully free of the deep creased lines from concealing his pain. She removed the leather strip securing her own braid and used it to tie Lucien’s hair back, keeping it out of his face.

“I’m gonna go,” Relleah announced softly.

“You don’t have to,” Elain objected, perching on the edge of the bed once more. She had one hand resting on Lucien’s arm as the other gently stroked his head. She was afraid if she stopped touching him, he would vanish or be taken away from her again. She hadn’t quite believed the nightmare was over.

“Yeah,” Relleah replied quietly. “I do.”

“Hey, Relle?”

The door hinges squeaked as Relleah paused in the doorway. “Hmm?”

“Thank you… for everything.”

Relleah just offered her a smile. “I’ll come back when I can.”

In the quiet following Relleah’s departure, Elain nestled down further in the bed and her heart leapt to her throat when Lucien’s arm slid over her torso and tugged her close. Fresh tears burned her eyes. For a time, she feared they would never find their way back to one another. She had been a fool. A fool to take him for granted. But no more.


	41. Chapter 41

A sharp rap on the door made Elain stir. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and was alarmed to see Lucien’s side of the bed empty. She bolted upright, scrambling out from beneath the sheets. 

The sound of a toilet flushing in the bathing room made her relax a bit. Lucien emerged still looking a bit disheveled, but remarkably better from the night before. She crossed the room in the time it took him to close the bathing room door behind him.

“Well, good morning, my little dove,” he murmured. Elain positively  _ loved  _ how husky and deep his voice was first thing in the morning. Just one of so many things she had grown to miss without even realizing it.

“You look like you feel better,” she remarked, doing her best to ignore the look of longing in his eyes. There would be time for that later, she told herself. She ducked under his outstretched arm to inspect his back.

“Oh my gods!” She exclaimed. “You’re almost completely healed already!”

Lucien shrugged and didn’t wince. “Between that remarkable salve Relle concocted and my own powers restored from the faebane being removed, all I needed was a good night’s sleep.”

She folded herself into his arms, her head resting on his bare chest. “I missed you so much.”

“Hmm, yeah, let’s never be abducted again,” Lucien said. “Deal?”

“I’ve missed you for far longer than that,” she clarified, breathing his scent in as deeply as she could. She missed the intoxicating smell of his scent on their sheets in the morning.

“I know,” he murmured against her hair, his voice still gruff, “I missed you too.”

Longing flashed in his eyes again… replaced by annoyance at another rap on the door.

“Go away,” they said in unison. 

“No,” Azriel’s voice rang out from the other side of the door. “You can ravage each other when we get home. You’re needed downstairs.”

Elain grinned up at Lucien. “To be continued?”

“Bet your life on it.” He pinched her waist before spinning around and ambling to his closet. “Now, I haven’t lived here for almost two-hundred and twenty years. Let’s see if there’s one tunic that will fit me.”

There wasn’t. Elain ducked out into the hall where Azriel was still waiting. She quickly explained and he disappeared into a shadowy corner, reappearing a moment later with a forest green tunic in hand. “Compliments of Vesstan’s closet.”

Once Lucien was dressed, he and Elain followed Az down into the throne room. 

Elain hardly recognized it. 

Granted, she had only been in it once but then it had been polished and refined with Beron’s throne atop a dais. Now, it looked as if they had dragged the formal dining room table into the middle of the throne room floor. There were about two dozen people milling about, including Lady Anlyn, Lucien’s four living brothers, and Beron, who Elain was pleased to see looking miserable with faebane shackles on his wrists. “Serves him right,” Elain muttered.

Every High Lord was present, including—

“Rhys!” Azriel called out and Rhys rose from the table to greet them. 

“Where are Briar and the others?” Azriel asked.

“Headed home,” Rhys replied. “I changed course and winnowed here though, once Feyre told me there would be a High Lords’ Tribunal.”

“Oh, shit,” Lucien muttered. 

“What?” Elain whispered.

Lucien exchanged a glance with Rhys before answering. “There hasn’t been a High Lords’ Tribunal in…”

“A long damn time,” Rhys finished. 

The half-dozen assorted conversations throughout the room stopped abruptly when Thesan rose from his seat. “Are we ready to begin?”

Lucien took a seat across from Helion while Elain lowered herself into the chair on Lucien’s other side. 

Once everyone was seated, Thesan continued. “Then let us convene this High Lords’... and Ladies’ Tribunal,” he dipped his head to Feyre, “on this, the twenty-third day of the Month of Celebration in the year five-hundred fifty-seven, P.T.”

_ P.T.? _

**_Post-Treaty. The years leading up to the Treaty were known as P.W… Pre-Wall._ **

_ It’s so formal. Are they all like this? _

**_Well, this is the first tribunal I’ve witnessed, but my guess is the last one was at least around the time of the first War, if not earlier… so poor Thesan is probably relying on a transcription of the last one._ **

“The accused,” Thesan read from a document in front of him. “Beron Vanserra, High Lord of the Autumn Court. The Charges: Trespassing with the Intent to Commit Malice, four counts of Kidnapping, including that of another Court’s diplomatic emissary, Attempted Murder of another High Lord’s heir, and High Treason.”

Beron merely sneered from his seat at the far end of the table. 

The tribunal lasted the entire day. Helion, Anlyn, Lucien, Elain, Azriel, and Eris were all called to provide testimony. Beron was also questioned and permitted an opportunity to speak to his defense. He droned on for so long, Elain stopped paying attention. Over half an hour later, Elain felt the bond being tugged.

**_I could be wrong, but I think he just likes to hear himself speak._ **

Elain’s mouth remained fixed in a straight line, but she giggled down the bond.

Finally, Beron’s monologue about why he hadn’t done anything wrong ended. It was late afternoon and aside from the trays of fruit and cheese scattered about the table, no one had eaten a proper meal all day. Thesan polled the table about whether to press on or break for dinner.

“Let’s just get this done, shall we?” Helion’s deep voice boomed. “I’d like this business to be over so I can go home and I’m sure the rest of you want to do the same.”

A general murmur of agreement passed over the table. 

“Very well,” Thesan conceded. “Ten-minute break and we’ll vote.”

Several people stood from the table, including Helion. He moved around the table to where Lucien and Elain sat and leaned forward, bracing one hand on the table so he could speak to Lucien quietly.

“What do you think?” Lucien asked. “He certainly spent plenty of time defending himself.”

Helion gave an unconcerned shake of his head. “Not a chance. He’s gone too far this time, and the rest of the courts know it.”

Elain smiled at the relaxed, comfortable atmosphere between the two of them. She was glad that, for whatever else had happened in the past several weeks, Lucien and Helion had found ways to connect. She could see it now—the resemblance between them. Lucien’s eyes were the same shape as Helion’s and both males had the same distinct jawline. Helion’s skin tone was much darker than Lucien’s, who favored his mother more with his golden-brown complexion. 

“With everything happening so quickly, I haven’t had a chance to thank you yet,” Lucien said.

“For what?”

Lucien gestured vaguely. “For… all of it.”

Helion clapped a hand on Lucien’s shoulder. “You’re my son, Lucien,” Helion said solemnly. “You never have to thank me for helping you.”

“All the same,” Lucien shrugged. “Oh, by the way, there’s something I wanted to run by you.”

Helion’s eyebrows rose, inviting Lucien to continue. Lucien noticed Elain watching them and added, “Later.”

Thesan returned to his seat and called for everyone to do the same. Once everyone was seated, Thesan passed a small box around the table, where each High Lord—and Lady—would cast their vote and recommendation for punishment if they voted guilty. Once the box returned to Thesan, he read each vote aloud as he removed them.

“The decision is unanimous,” Thesan announced. “Guilty on all charges.”

Beron attempted to interject, but Thesan spoke over him. “The decision is final. You have not earned the right to appeal, Beron. You are a disgrace to the title of High Lord. And as for your punishment… the crimes you have committed are enough to condemn you to death, however, this council agrees to spare your life. Therefore, you are hereby stripped of your title as High Lord and sentenced to be confined to The Prison. Eris Vanserra shall henceforth be declared High Lord of the Autumn Court.”

**_Wow._ **

_ What? _

**_No High Lord has ever been stripped of his title. The power always passes naturally to their son._ **

Beron whipped his head around to Eris and seethed, “You said I could keep my lands.”

“I said you  _ might  _ get to keep your lands,” Eris contradicted. “But that was before you completely lost your senses and tried to murder another High Lord and his heir… in the presence of every other High Lord in Prythian!”

Beron’s sneer deepened. “Lucien is not his—

“Don’t you  _ dare _ try to claim him now!” Anlyn warned, shooting to her feet. Helion rose from his chair as well as Anlyn continued. “You have rejected him since the day he was born. You have no right to lay claim on him just because he finally serves a purpose for you. You deserve  _ no  _ leniency.”

“What makes you think you can speak to your husband and High Lord with such disrespect?” Beron spat.

“Husband only by the laws of the land. And even that will be nullified upon your imprisonment. You haven’t been my High Lord since the day you threatened to kill my son from within my womb.”

The room erupted with gasps and murmurs. Even Tamlin appeared disgusted. Beneath the table, Elain gripped Lucien’s hand and squeezed.

“And she may speak to you however she pleases,” Helion said smugly, “now that she will be High Lady of the Day Court.”

The murmuring grew following Helion’s pronouncement.

“Oh please,” Beron said mockingly as he rolled his eyes, “just because Rhysand wanted his bitch to feel important, now you’re all—”

A wave of darkness hit Beron so hard, it knocked his chair backwards and tipped him out onto the floor, cowering as wolves of water surrounded him.

“Call me bitch again,” Feyre taunted, “and I’ll drown you.”

“After I turn your mind into putty,” Rhys added.

**_I have just been reminded why I never want to piss off your sister or her mate._ **

Elain didn’t even bother trying to hide her smirk.

*********************  
  


The procedure to transfer the power of High Lord was surprisingly simple. Upon Beron’s conviction, the land itself seemed to reject him as its sovereign, as if it knew he was no longer fit to bear such a title. A priestess was called in to officiate the ceremony and formally declare Eris High Lord of the Autumn Court. The entire ceremony took less than ten minutes.

Afterward, Lucien chatted amicably with the others while Elain and Anlyn returned to his old rooms to gather their things. Lucien had been reluctant to let Elain out of his sight.

“Don’t be such a wet blanket, son,” Anlyn chided. “We’ll be back in half an hour.”

“Can’t say I blame you,” Eris said, sidling up to Lucien’s side. “Considering everything that’s happened. Are you sure you don’t want to stay for dinner? I can have the kitchen send some food up.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Lucien replied, “but I would rather eat stale bread from my own house than the finest meal the kitchen staff could prepare. I just want to go home.”

They both gazed out the window at the eternal autumn forest beyond the estate. “This could be your home again,” Eris suggested. “If you wanted.”

Lucien slowly turned to face his brother. “Are you pardoning me?”

A nod. “I rescind your banishment from the Autumn Court. I will also make the villages aware that you were not responsible for Jesminda’s death. Their resentment toward you is misplaced. And for what it’s worth… I’m sorry for the role I played in it.”

Lucien’s eyes pricked and burned. For over two hundred years, he had been an exile from his home court, only allowed within its borders for official emissary business. He had no desire to ever live here again, but just the simple fact of being able to come if he chose... 

“Brother,” Lucien forced out, his throat bobbing, “thank you.”

“This is the beginning of a new era,” Eris said, “for all of us.” He tipped his chin in greeting as Helion approached them.

“You said you wanted to run something by me,” Helion reminded Lucien.

Eris excused himself to go speak with Thesan and Kallias.

“Yes,” Lucien replied. His pulse sped up, but he made himself ask the question that had come to him this morning. When he’d come out of the bathing room and seen Elain’s necklace lying on the bedside table, chain still broken. “I don’t presume—or want—to know about yours and my mother’s… activities.”

Helion’s grin turned feline. 

“I just wanted to see what you thought of having a dual mating bond ceremony. Me and Elain and you and my mother. Elain and I never actually had one and I just thought...”

Once he voiced the idea, Lucien realized how ridiculously sentimental it sounded. He was grateful for his high-collared tunic as his neck flushed. To his surprise, when Helion looked at him, his amber eyes appeared glassy and red.

“I would be honored,” he replied.

Relief flooded through Lucien. “Oh, good. For a moment, I was afraid you’d think it was a stupid idea.”

“Not in the slightest. Tell me what you had in mind?”

“Well,” Lucien began, “I remember Mother saying she loved the vineyards…”


	42. Chapter 42

It was nearly one in the morning when Azriel and the others returned from the Autumn Court. Briar took several deep breaths that did nothing to ease the queasy feeling in her stomach. What in the world would she do if Azriel didn’t like her transformation?

That had been a thought that didn’t occur to her until she arrived home with Amren and Cass. She had known Azriel wouldn’t be there when they got home. On their return trip, Feyre called Rhys from their bond and he quickly explained the situation in the Autumn Court. He split off from them and went to join Feyre and Az while she and the others returned to Velaris. Considering Rhys’s hasty departure, she hadn’t expected them back tonight.

But she was woken from a fitful sleep when Cassian pounded his fist on her door, alerting her of their return. Not that she had been able to get any real rest. Sleeping with the wings was proving to be difficult and she hadn’t yet found a position comfortable enough to fall asleep. 

Her stomach did a series of backflips when she heard Cass and Azriel outside the door of their apartment. 

“What do you mean, I have to wait for her to get up?” Az grumbled. “It’s the middle of the night. I’m exhausted. I just want to go to sleep.”

“You just need to trust me, she needed to be awake when you got home.”

“Why?” Azriel’s voice was heavy with suspicion.

“Because—”

The door swung open to reveal Az and Cass tangled in an apparent fight for control of the doorknob. Azriel’s eyes locked onto Briar where she stood in the foyer and his mouth fell open.

“Holy… fuck,” he murmured.

“—of that,” Cass finished. He mouthed “sorry” to Briar, but she barely noticed him. All her attention was fixed on Azriel. On the way his eyes were glued to her wings.

He seemed to move in slow motion toward her, every step taking a lifetime. Of which, she supposed she had plenty of now. He stopped a foot in front of her and began to reach a hand toward her wings but stopped, withdrawing his hand abruptly.

Briar remembered what Az once told her about Illyrians’ wings. And how it was a great personal insult to touch an Illyrian’s wings without permission. Unexpected tears welled in Briar’s eyes and her bottom lip wobbled. He had just been given arguably the biggest shock of his life and he already regarded her as a true Illyrian.

“How?” He choked out, tears in his own eyes.

“I have quite a story to tell you,” Briar replied.

“Well, save it for when we all get up to the House,” Cassian interjected.

“The House?” Briar’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Rhys has apparently called a family meeting,” Az explained, not taking his eyes off Briar.

“At one in the morning?” She griped. 

Az simply shrugged. The three of them made their way up to the roof for the short flight to the House. 

“Do you already know how to fly?” Azriel asked.

“Not well,” Briar admitted. “Cass tried to help me on the way back from Under the Mountain but… well, I have a lot to learn.”

“She didn’t do bad for her first attempt,” Cass supplied. “Besides, you’re better off with me teaching you than Az.”

“Umm, why?”

“Ask Feyre,” Cassian chortled.

“Ignore him,” Az quipped, taking Briar’s hand while Cassian moved to her other side. “But until you learn properly, this is the easiest way to keep you airborne,” he added.

Cassian gripped her free hand and the three of them stepped off the roof in unison, the current of the wind catching in the leathery membranes of Briar’s wings. It was such a surreal sensation to soar through the sky without being gripped in Azriel’s arms. Between Azriel and Cassian keeping her steady, they managed to arrive at the House before everyone else. Cass released her hand the moment they landed, but Azriel kept his clasped with hers. Briar wasn’t sure he’d blinked since he saw her in the apartment. 

“We have to go get Lucien and Elain,” Cassian said a little louder than necessary.

“I’ll be right behind you,” Az said, and Cassian gave him a look that clearly said he didn’t believe him. He didn’t argue though, as he leapt off the balcony and flew back to Velaris.

Briar nervously tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. Azriel was still staring at her, though from his expression, she couldn’t quite determine if he wanted to rage at her or ravish her.

She was also finding it hard to focus on anything, since it felt as if she was being consumed by his scent. She had wanted to know what it smelled like for so long and now, it was overtaking her senses. He smelled like a campfire in the middle of a heavy rain surrounded by fir trees. There was also a hint of something sweet she couldn’t quite identify. It was subtle and she doubted many even detected it at all. But for Briar, it was intoxicating. 

“How?” He asked again.

“The short version? A gift from the Mother for getting rid of the Whisperer.” She bit her lip as he continued to study her. “Do… do you like it?” 

“Like it?” He breathed. “It’s a miracle!”

A balloon of anxious worry deflated inside her chest, replaced by overwhelming relief. “But what if…”

“What?”

“What if the other Illyrians hate it? What if they see it as an insult? What if—”

“I don’t rightly give a damn what they think,” He interjected. “You are mine and I am yours and you are  _ perfect.” _

He leaned into her and captured her mouth with his. Her stomach backflipped again, only this time, it had nothing to do with nerves. She wanted to do nothing but stay there and kiss him until the end of their eternity, but too soon he was breaking off and moving toward the balcony.

Briar put her hands on her hips and poked her bottom lip out into a pout. “Can’t you stay another minute?”

“If I don’t go back and get Lucien this instant,” Azriel growled, sending a shiver down Briar’s spine, “I’ll take you upstairs and show you just what those wings of yours are capable of.”

Briar’s pulse quickened as heat flooded through her. Rhysand’s impromptu meeting better be quick.

********************  
  


By the time the Inner Circle finished their reunion, the first rays of dawn’s light were piercing through the windows.

Rhys, Cassian, Amren, and Briar told their story of finding the cave, searching for clues, and finally defeating the Whisperer. The others were amazed at Briar’s transformation.

“I have to admit,” Mor said between bites of an enormous slice of chocolate cake, “if I ever expected you to become immortal, I just assumed you’d become High Fae. It never crossed my mind you might be somehow transformed into an Illyrian.”

Elain had been positively shocked to see her friend now bearing a set of wings, but she couldn’t be more delighted for Briar. She knew what a constant worry it had been for Briar to know someday she would have grown old and died while the rest of them remained young and strong for centuries. But now, she would be able to share in eternity with them. Her family.

“Oh and you will  _ never  _ guess who turned up!” Cass exclaimed, looking a bit repulsed.

Everyone’s attention turned to him. 

“Who?” Nesta asked sharply.

“Bryaxis,” Briar tittered.

“What?” Lucien sat up a bit straighter. “Really? How?”

“Before we left,” Rhys explained nonchalantly, as if monsters of nightmares and darkness frequently accompanied him on quests, “I paid him a visit. Lucien, you’re the one who gave me the idea.”

“I did…?” Lucien sounded doubtful. 

“When you relayed everything Bryaxis told you about the Whisperer. You told us he agreed to help if we called him.”

“Well, yeah, but I didn’t think—”

“So,” Rhys pressed on, “I asked if he was willing to accompany us. He agreed, though he opted to remain half a day behind us instead of traveling with us.”

Cassian turned ghastly white. “You mean that… thing was with us the  _ entire time?” _

He shuddered with his entire body before abruptly rising and heading toward the whiskey cabinet.

“So, hold on,” Aridea interjected. “You mean to tell me that it can get out of the Library whenever it chooses to? It just… doesn’t?”

“He told me it’s his home,” Lucien said, remembering one of his prior conversations with his friend. “He likes it down there. He was just lonely and wanted a view.”

“Poor monster,” Briar lamented.

“Indeed,” Rhys agreed. “After seeing its interaction with the Mother, I think there’s more to Bryaxis than any of us knew.”

Lucien asked for details, so Rhys recounted how Bryaxis clung to the Mother, reluctant to leave her, and the brief conversation between the two. Lucien’s mind flashed back to the conversation he had with Bryaxis after his fight with Elain.

_ Did you have a mate at one time? _

_ That is a story that will take entirely too much time.  _

“Do you think,” he supposed with a deep crease in his brow, “that the Mother could have had a mate? Long ago?”

“Before all this,” Rhys said, leaning forward and resting his chin in his hand, “I would have said not a chance… But I watched our world’s creator transform a human woman into an Illyrian right in front of my eyes. So, anything is possible.”

“Sounds like you and your best friend will have lots to talk about,” Cassian groused.

Lucien let out a small hollow laugh. “Oh, more than you know.”

Once the story of the Whisperer’s defeat was shared, they all made the collective agreement to never mention its name again. Rhys had already made an appointment with Clotho to record the events that transpired and have six copies made, one distributed to each of the other courts, to be kept in their libraries. Since the Mother said the Whisperer could never truly be destroyed, they all agreed having a written record of what happened would help future generations if they were unfortunate enough to cross paths with the menacing voice.

Then it was Lucien, Elain, and Azriel’s turn to share their stories. Elain told them of her kidnapping from the cabin and of meeting Relleah. She was grateful to have had Anlyn with her. Even though they had both been captives, it made their time there much less miserable by having one another close by.

Together, Lucien and Az told of their failed rescue attempt and then of Eris freeing Azriel to get help, at which point Feyre joined in. She explained how she’d had an inexplicably bad feeling ever since everyone left for their respective missions and as a precaution, asked the High Lords to be on standby in case they were needed. When Azriel showed up in the dead of night to tell her what happened in Autumn, she pushed her Daemati abilities to their limit by calling out to all the other High Lords at once.

Then for the benefit of those who stayed behind, Rhys and Feyre recounted the events of the High Lords’ Tribunal.

“You know,” Rhys pondered, “we’re really going to have to come up with a new name for that… considering there are two High Ladies now.”

“I’m sorry,” Amren interjected. “Two High Ladies?”

“Indeed,” Rhys replied, leaning back and draping an arm around Feyre’s shoulder. “Helion declared Anlyn as his High Lady.”

“See what you started?” Mor teased, wagging her finger at him. “Now every High Lord will be making his mate or wife a High Lady.”

“As they should!” Rhys proclaimed loudly. “Everyone knows the females are smarter than us males.”

“Kiss ass,” Cassian muttered with a yawn.

Nesta elbowed him in the ribs as she tried to suppress her own yawn. “Don’t you know those are contagious?”

“That hasn’t ever actually been proven,” Cass contradicted, even as the rest of their group let out a collective yawn. “Until now, I guess.”

Soft chuckles and murmurs of agreement fluttered through their group. Elain yawned again and burrowed herself deeper into the crook of Lucien’s arm. Suddenly, she bolted straight up, earning a groan of protest from Lucien.

“Oh Feyre!” Elain suddenly exclaimed. “We forgot your birthday!”

“Being abducted and held prisoner hardly counts as ‘forgetting,’ dear sister,” Feyre reassured her.

“But—”

“If the Mother is kind… and it sounds like she is,” Feyre added with a wink to Briar, “I’ll have hundreds more reasons to celebrate.”

“Well,” Lucien grinned, “speaking of reasons to celebrate…”

**_Should we tell them?_ **

Elain gripped the sun and dove pendant, it’s broken chain dangling between her fingers.  _ Yes. _

She laughed when she realized everyone was looking at them, waiting expectantly.

“Elain and I have decided to have a formal mating bond ceremony—”

“Oh my gods,  _ finally!” _ Mor burst excitedly, not even acknowledging the hiss Aridea gave her for interrupting.

“It won’t be right away,” Elain clarified. “We’re actually planning to do it in early spring—”

“Ohhhhh,” Briar hummed. “That will be so pretty!”

“In the Day Court—”

“I’m so excited for this!” Feyre squealed.

“Well, if you’d all shut up for more than two seconds,” Lucien huffed with a smirk, “she could tell you all the details.”

Elain burst out laughing as the females all assumed expressions of chagrin. They reminded her of a time when she, Feyre, and Nesta were small children and their mother caught them sneaking sweets from the pantry before dinner.

“Anyway,” Elain went on, unable to keep the bemused smile from her face as her sisters and her friends kept looking at her with stars for eyes, “we’re planning to have a dual mating bond ceremony with Helion and Anlyn at the Day Court vineyards in early spring.”

The girls all seemed to be holding their breath.

“Now you can scream,” Elain laughed. 

Mor, Aridea, Briar, and Feyre all shrieked their delight. Nesta and Amren seemed more composed, though they too were chattering animatedly about the upcoming celebrations.

“Well, now that I’m deaf,” Rhys rose from his seat, pulling Feyre up with him. “I’m off to bed.”

Many of the others announced their own intention to finally go to sleep, now that the sun had risen fully and was beaming brightly into the sitting room.

Though Elain was exhausted, she also felt electrified with nervous energy. She couldn’t wait to begin planning the ceremony with Anlyn and the rest of her friends…. after curling up in her own bed with her mate and sleeping for at least an entire day.

***************************  
  


Despite Elain’s fatigue, she did not immediately go to bed when she and Lucien arrived home. Briefly, she thought they might have to spend the night up at the House, but Feyre and Rhys offered to carry them back to the townhouses.

Elain sat at her vanity, idly combing through her long wavy hair. Her pendant sat on the vanity table. Lucien emerged from the bathing room and moved to stand behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders. She leaned into his gentle touch with a content sigh.

“Tomorrow, we’ll take your necklace to be repaired,” he said.

“Mmhmm.” Between her exhaustion weighing on her and Lucien’s steady deft hands kneading her shoulders, she couldn’t form coherent words.

His fingers halted, hands resting motionless on her shoulders. She opened her eyes and through the mirror on her vanity, she saw him staring down at the broken necklace.

“Hey,” she said, turning on the bench to face him. “It can be fixed. It’s fine. At least it didn’t get permanently lost.”

Still seated on the bench while he stood in front of her, she had to tilt her head back to look up at him. “It’s fine,” she said again.

“It’s not fine,” he muttered, shaking his head lightly. “I am  _ so  _ sorry Elain.”

“For what?”

“For everything,” he made a wide sweeping gesture with his hands. “I failed you… in so many ways. Every horrible thing that has happened to you has been because of me.”

Elain stood from the bench but even then, she had to look up at him. “Listen to me,” she said firmly. “Am I sorry that the Whisperer chose us to torment? Yes. Am I sorry that we both suffered at the cruel hands of Beron? Yes. But I will  _ never  _ be sorry, not for one single second, for loving you. And it was not all your fault. I’m just as much to blame. The Whisperer came after me first, out of any of us, and what I should have done from the very beginning was tell you. We could have fixed this together instead of letting it push us to the brink of falling apart.”

“After your visions became repetitive,” Lucien said, swallowing thickly, “I just wanted to give you the space you needed to heal… I thought you’d feel, I don’t know, smothered if I didn’t back off a little.”

Elain reached for his hand and interlaced her fingers with his. “You have always acted like I needed you far away from me in order to recover from anything. How do you still not see that I need you  _ with me _ to heal? That you are the light I look for when darkness is trying to drown me?”

A shadow of doubt flickered in his russet brown eye. It came less and less frequently but every so often, it reappeared. The doubt that he was somehow still not good enough for her. That was partially why she couldn’t understand how he didn’t see it—that she needed him. Because he clearly needed her every bit as much. Slowly, piece by piece, they’d spent the past decade healing each other… just for the Whisperer to burst in and all but shatter the very foundations of what held them together.

“I just wanted you to have what you wanted so badly,” Lucien said. “It killed me that you felt like you weren’t enough.”

Elain took a shuddering breath, finally ready to admit what she had realized in the Autumn Court. “All this time, the Whisperer was making believe that my greatest fear was not giving you a child. But in that moment when I thought Beron was going to kill you,” her voice broke as she struggled to hold back her tears, “I realized the Whisperer was wrong. What I feared, so much more than never becoming a mother, was watching you die. Never being able to laugh with you again. Never being able to wake up next to you or dance with you in the garden with no music… That fear consumed me.”

Just thinking about it made her mind return to the sight of Beron hurtling flames at Lucien. If he hadn’t ducked, he would have been incinerated. She thought of how weak and listless he had been when the guards dragged him up from the dungeon and chained him to the whipping post. She thought of how barbaric it was for a court to even still  _ have  _ public whipping posts.

“And I have never been more afraid in my entire life.” Her shoulders shook as she finally let go of the tears she’d been holding back. 

He put his arm around her waist and pulled her into him. He was warm and solid and  _ hers.  _ More than anything, he was hers. She knew it with a sudden clarity that had been veiled for so long. Ever since the Whisperer tried to rip them apart. But now it was bold and clear and so obvious she could have laughed.

“Promise me,” she sniffled against his chest, “that we never keep each other in the dark again?”

“I promise,” Lucien replied, his answer muffled from his mouth pressed against her hair.

“And if it’s our fate never to have a child…” Elain trailed off, leaning back to look up at him once more. His metal eye clicked and whirred as she turned her face up to his. Searching his face for the acceptance she needed. The reassurance that he would still love her. That she would be enough.

**_You have_ ** **always** **_been enough._ **

His own voice quavered down the bond, but she clearly heard the pure desperation for her to understand. For her to know he was sincere. She must have unintentionally sent the last thought down the bond. Her strong emotions usually did weaken the barrier between the two of them and this was no exception.

**_Always. All I have ever wanted was you._ **

Elain wept freely against his chest while he continued to murmur softly into her hair.

“If it is our fate to never have a child,” Lucien said, “then I will love you just as much as I do today. As I did the day you accepted the bond. There will never come a day when you lose my love, Elain.”

Finally, without the Whisperer sowing seeds of doubt in her mind and heart, she believed him.


	43. Chapter 43

In what felt like no time at all, the day of the dual mating bond ceremony had arrived. Elain and Lucien went a few days ahead of the rest of the Inner Circle in order to spend some time together before the ceremony and to ensure everything was set up to their preferences.

Elain reached for the pendant at her neck while Anlyn finished pinning back her hair. Her long honey-golden hair fell in a waterfall of soft curls down her back. Anlyn had taken a few strands from each side and pinned them back to keep them out of Elain’s face. Anlyn’s own hair was twisted back and pinned up, a band of thin golden leaves atop her head.

Anlyn wore a gown of shimmering gold that made Elain think of what the sun might look like if it twinkled like stars.

Elain wore the same glittery orange dress that she had debuted the night of Lucien’s birthday when she surprised him by having his mother brought to the Night Court. She’d gone back and forth with Deidre for hours about whether to have a new dress made or to simply make some minor tweaks to the orange dress. In the end, she decided on the orange dress.

“Lucien absolutely loves it,” Elain explained to Anlyn as her mother-in-law laced up the bodice for her. “Plus… it was what I was wearing the night we first kissed.”

Her neck and cheeks flushed, but not from embarrassment. She was never ashamed of her affection for him. She even joked once with him that if it made others uncomfortable, they could go somewhere else.

“It was the night I knew I wanted my heart to belong to him forever,” Elain murmured quietly, staring at the embroidered copper butterflies that gathered at the hem of her skirt and fanned upward, thinning the higher they got to her bodice.

“It’s perfect,” Anlyn said warmly.

When they finished dressing, a carriage was waiting for them outside the palace to take them to the vineyards. Elain’s fingers moved over the pendant at her neck again, nervous excitement rushing through her. She and Lucien had been mated for ten years, but they never had any kind of formal ceremony. Truly, they hadn’t even had a party with their friends for the explicit purpose of celebrating their mating bond. This was long overdue.

Elain had explained to Anlyn that in traditional human marriages, the bride’s father would walk her down the aisle and give her away to the groom.

“But we are not mortals,” Elain declared. “And while I think my father would have liked Lucien, I’ve already given myself to him.”

“Then we should walk together,” Anlyn squeezed Elain’s hand.

The carriage eased to a stop and carefully, Elain and Anlyn stepped out on the opposite side of where everyone they held dear waited.

Anlyn took a deep breath. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Elain replied.

With a signal from Anlyn, the carriage driver urged the horses on, pulling the carriage away. 

Anlyn had been right. The vineyards  _ were _ absolutely stunning. Endless rows of grapevines stretched over the horizon. An arch of amethyst had been erected in a small clearing and beneath it stood Helion, Lucien, and the priestess.

Elain initially had misgivings about using a priestess, considering what Lucien had endured. But Helion invited all priestesses of the Day Court to the palace for Lucien and Elain to meet and Elain quickly learned that the name Ianthe was a stain on their holy order. After spending an afternoon with several of them, Elain and Lucien both agreed on one. But Elain wasn’t thinking about priestesses now. Her eyes were fixed on Lucien.

Instead of the usual finery he wore during formal events, he was dressed in the traditional fashion of the Day Court. He was clothed in sweeping white fabric that draped over one shoulder, secured by a golden clasp in the shape of a sun. The edges of the fabric were embroidered with thick, golden symbols that Elain didn’t recognize. His long crimson hair was swept back off his shoulders and a crown of golden spikes resembling the sun’s rays sat atop his head.

He looked absolutely magnificent.

**_I’m told I clean up nicely._ **

_ Eavesdropper.  _ She grinned wickedly at him as she and Anlyn drew closer. 

**_You… look… stunning. You’re just as beautiful as the day I fell in love with you._ **

_ Oh, and precisely what day was that? _

**_Every day since the moment I laid eyes on you._ **

Elain’s chin wobbled. She promised herself she wasn’t going to cry today. Nuala and Cerridwen spent so long making sure her makeup was perfect but if Lucien kept saying things like that, she wasn’t sure she would be able to keep that promise. 

When they reached the temporary dais that had been set up at the arch, Elain noticed Helion was dressed to match Lucien, all the way up to the crown of sunlight.

The priestess instructed each couplet to join hands. Lucien took both of Elain’s hands in his own and smiled at her. That smile was as radiant as the sun itself.

“You have chosen to gather here today to celebrate a unique and meaningful occasion. Not one, but two mated couples have found one another, against all odds. You have already accepted the mating bond between you and when you walk away from this ceremony, you will be formally recognized as both mates and husband and wife. Rejoice in the blessings of the Mother for bringing you all together in bonds of love, friendship, and family.”

Elain glanced out at the small group of people gathered to celebrate with them. Helion was High Lord of this court and could have chosen to have an enormous ceremony. But instead, they were all content to just have the ones they held closest in their hearts.

Feyre and Nesta sat in chairs on the front row while Rhys and Cassian stood behind them. Suri sat atop Rhysand’s shoulders, flapping her wings happily in the light breeze. Briar stood beside Azriel. She had made great strides in adjusting to her new Illyrian body but said she still found normal sized chairs restricting.

Mor and Aridea sat with their hands clasped, fingers entwined together. Amren sat with her head unabashedly on Varian’s shoulder. Eris and Vesstan were also present at Anlyn’s request, along with a few guests of Helion’s that Elain didn’t know. And Deidre sat with Nuala and Cerridwen behind Mor and the others. Elain had positively insisted on Deidre’s presence.

“Without you,” Elain had fussed, “I probably wouldn’t have even had the courage to talk to Lucien!”

In the very back, lingering over by the carriages under the shadowy canopy of a magnolia tree was an amorphous cloud of what looked like black smoke, its two glowing eyes blinking occasionally.

“Helion and Anlyn,” the priestess said, drawing Elain’s attention back. “Lucien and Elain. From today forward, you shall fear no storms, for each of you will be shelter to the other. You shall feel no cold, for you will be the other’s warmth. Feel no loneliness, for you have found the one whom your soul has always sought. 

“By accepting the bond bestowed upon you by the Mother, you promise to share in each other’s pain and protect one another. You vow to rejoice in one another’s joy and endure any hardships and toils together. You will honor and respect the other as an equal in this bond you now share. What the Mother has blessed, let nothing come between you from now until you enter the eternal land of milk and honey.

“Do you swear to uphold these vows as entrusted to you by the Mother’s sacred blessing?”

“I swear it,” Helion and Anlyn said together. 

“I swear it,” Elain said in unison with Lucien. 

“The by the power bestowed upon me—”

“Wait,” Lucien said abruptly. 

Elain whipped her head up to look at him sharply. Dread trickled into her mind as she imagined all the reasons Lucien might want to call off the ceremony. It became harder to breathe as an uncomfortable tightness filled her chest.

“I just realized I don’t know your surname,” Lucien said to Helion.

Elain bit back a strangled cry of relief.  _ You thought  _ now  _ was a good time to find that out. _

Lucien just winked at her.

“It’s Soclara,” Helion replied slowly.

“I wish to renounce the name Vanserra,” Lucien declared a bit louder so everyone could hear, “and with your consent, I would be honored if you would allow me to take your surname.”

Helion bowed his head and Elain could have sworn she saw tears in his eyes when he said, “The honor is mine, Lucien.”

The priestess raised her eyebrows at Lucien, and he gave her a gesture to continue.

_ “Now  _ by the power bestowed upon me by the Mother,” the priestess said, breaking her formal countenance to smirk slightly. “Helion and Anlyn Soclara, I pronounce you mated now and forevermore.” Helion cupped Anlyn’s face and kissed her long and deeply.

Elain tugged the bond.  _ What do you say we show them up? _

**_That’s my little vixen._ **

“Lucien and Elain Soclara, I pronounce you mated now and forevermore.” Lucien bent Elain into a low dip and his mouth crashed into hers. Elain gripped his bare shoulder and returned the kiss with just as much fervor. Lucien slid his arm behind Elain’s knees and swept her up into his arms, never taking his mouth off hers.

Their friends erupted into a cacophony of applause and wolf whistles. 

When they broke apart and Lucien set her back down, Anlyn pulled Elain into a tight warm embrace. From the corner of her eye, she saw Helion embrace Lucien just as tightly.

Several carriages waited to take their group back to the palace. Once Elain and Lucien were settled into theirs and it began moving, Elain kicked off her shoes and leaned her head on his shoulder. She started humming a melody they both knew, singing a few lyrics intermittently.

“I’ll swim and sail on savage seas, with ne’er a fear of drowning, and gladly ride the waves of life…”

“Because you married me,” Lucien murmured, finishing the verse.

Elain giggled softly. “Those aren’t the actual words.”

He turned on the seat to look at her. “Well, of course not. It’s a proposal song.” His burnished metal eye gleamed in the light from the carriage window.

“We finally did it,” Elain marveled. “We officially got married.”

“I know you said you didn’t want a ring,” Lucien said, “but I was thinking of getting one for mys—”

“Actually,” Elain interjected, “I think I  _ do  _ want one.”

“Really?” He tried to conceal his excitement, but Elain felt it through the bond. 

“Yeah,” she said with a wistful smile. “I absolutely love the necklace your mother had made for me, but I also want to get something that’s wholly our own. That we choose together.”

He lifted her chin with his pointer finger and kissed her softly. “I love you so damn much.”

“I love you more.”

“Hmmm, I doubt that.”

“Oh… really?” Elain climbed onto Lucien’s lap.

“Well, hello there,” Lucien purred. “Wife.”

“It certainly has a nice ring to it,” Elain shrugged. “But not as good as mate.”

“Luckily, I get to call you both,” he murmured, his hands on her thighs. 

She gave him a feline smile before lowering her mouth to his. His hands raked up her back and into her hair, causing her to moan with desire.

“Surely we don’t have time for this?” He breathed.

Elain leaned in and nipped at his collarbone, eliciting a soft groan from within his throat. “I told the carriage driver to take the long way back.”

“Naughty little vixen, indeed.”

“Complaining?”

“Not in the slightest,” Lucien replied, his voice turning low and husky in that way that drove Elain wild.

She tilted her head to the side, sweeping her hair out of her face and drawing his earlobe between her teeth. Lucien’s entire body shuddered beneath her. Her fingers found the clasp in the shape of a sun pinning the fabric at Lucien’s shoulder and unfastened it, tossing the clasp to the floor of the carriage. 

Her hands roved over his bare chest and around to his back. Lucien’s hands were all over her—gripping her shoulders and raking up her back again and finally, one hand wove her hair through his fingers while the other slipped beneath her dress and between her legs.

Lucien hissed with arousal when his fingers slipped into her warm center. “Elain, my naughty little minx,” he purred, “are you not wearing any underthings?”

She thrust her hips forward in response, pushing his fingers deeper. Lucien’s hand that was still tangled in her hair closed into a fist.

Elain jerked as she exerted physical restraint to keep from crying out. But between his fingers inside her and the arousal of him tugging her hair, she could have come apart right there.

“Be as loud as you want, my little vixen. I put a very thorough glamour on the carriage.”

“Oh, you clever,  _ clever  _ fox,” she purred in reply before capturing his mouth with hers again.

His mouth opened willingly to her, her tongue sliding over his teeth and colliding with his. He tasted like whiskey and sunshine and pure desire. Elain’s hands turned frantic, reaching for the hem of his garment and pushing the material up to his hips.

“Well, my clever fox,” she rasped. “It would appear that you aren’t wearing any underthings either.”

Lucien gave her a feral grin as she raised herself up onto her knees and then sheathed him inside of her. That time, Elain did cry out with pleasure.

Too long. It had been entirely too long since they had come together as one. This was right and whole and  _ good. _ She chastised herself for ever being afraid of this. For denying him  _ this. _ She rotated her hips, grinding against him as she approached pure bliss. 

Lucien wrapped his arms around her back, thrusting his hips upward, sinking himself deeper inside her with every pump. Elain spread her legs wider, trying to take more of him in even as he plunged to the hilt.

Elain moaned with every thrust, hoping Lucien’s glamour held. She kept grinding her own hips against him, her core throbbing with mounting pleasure.

“Oh, gods, Lucien, yes,” she panted. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop. I’m so close.”

Lucien obeyed, thrusting harder into her while she ground her hips against him.

“Yes, yes, yes!” Elain screamed, her climax surging through her and making her entire body shudder. Lucien groaned as Elain tightened her thighs, sheathing him tightly inside her when his own release came. They gripped each other tightly, Elain jerking as aftershocks of her pleasure shot through her. 

They were both breathing heavily as Elain climbed off Lucien’s lap, her legs trembling. For several minutes, they simply sat beside one another as the carriage bumped and clattered down the gravel path leading back to the palace.

Just then, Elain didn’t quite care if they joined the party or not. She would have been perfectly content with going up to their room and falling asleep with her mate. But everyone they loved was waiting for them in the ballroom of the palace and they had supported Elain and Lucien every step of their journey.

**_Most of them,_ ** Lucien corrected with a tired, satisfied smirk.  **_Remember in the beginning, the viper was the opposite of supportive… but I do agree. Going upstairs and going to bed sounds marvelous._ **

Elain snickered quietly as the carriage pulled in view of the palace.

“I suppose we better straighten ourselves up,” she said. “Heavens forbid we look like we had a romp right after our wedding.”

She knelt in the recessed floor of the carriage to retrieve her shoes and the sun clasp for Lucien’s garment. As she pinned the fabric back together at his shoulder, Lucien leaned forward and kissed her.

“I’m so glad I have you back,” he whispered.

“I missed you too,” she replied, resting her forehead against his.

  
***************************************

When their carriage pulled up to the palace and they emerged, most of their friends were milling around on the terrace. 

Nesta clicked her tongue with impatience. “Finally! We thought your driver got lost.”

Elain and Lucien exchanged a playful smile at the wink Nesta gave them.

“Honestly,” Feyre joined in loudly, “Cassian’s already been through half a bottle of wine.”

“Half a bottle?” Lucien chortled. “Is that it? Well dove, get back in the carriage and let’s take another lap around the palace.”

Elain nudged Lucien with her hip. Lucien’s response was to slip his arm around her waist and pull her closer, pressing a kiss against the side of her temple.

“Nice to see you two are back to being disgustingly in love,” Rhys crooned as he strode past them. “There’s a magnificent party going on. You should join it.”

Rhys held out his arm to Feyre. She linked her arm through his and let him lead her from the terrace into the ballroom, where Lucien could hear music playing. 

The terrace was bathed in late-afternoon light as the sun dipped down below the distant hills.

“He’s right you know,” Elain smiled at him. “There’s a party waiting for us.”

Lucien extended his own arm to his mate. Elain draped her arm through the crook of Lucien’s elbow, and they proceeded toward the ballroom. Just as they reached the doors, a voice called out from behind them.

“Lucien.”

Lucien’s metal eye was already seeking the speaker before he was able to turn around. Though Lucien needn’t have bothered with his metallic eye. He knew that voice. 

Standing on the gravel entrance was Tamlin.

“Tam?” Lucien took a step toward his former friend, Elain’s arm slipping from the bend of his elbow. She whirled around just as Tamlin held his hands held up, palms facing out in a gesture of submission. 

“I know it’s a party,” Tamlin began, and Lucien didn’t fail to notice the weariness in his voice. “And I know I wasn’t invited. I just need to talk to you.”

Lucien wasn’t sure what had shifted. Whether it was the time he’d spent in Night serving under a High Lord who valued him or if it was simply the fact that he’d made true friends who gave a damn about him, but whatever the reason, he was no longer afraid of Tamlin. No longer terrified to speak his mind and fear retribution for it.

“Tomorrow,” Lucien said. “Whatever you have to say, I’ll hear it tomorrow.”

“Lucien, please—”

“Tomorrow,” Lucien repeated firmly. “It may not seem like it at the moment Tam, but I am grateful to you for showing up in Autumn.”

Tamlin managed a weak smile. 

“But tonight,” Lucien took Elain’s hand and returned it to his arm, “is for her.”

A swell of love and pride coursed down the bond, enveloping him in warmth. 

Tamlin sighed. “Go enjoy your celebration. You deserve it.”

Lucien strained to hear any kind of resentment or sarcasm in Tamlin’s voice, but there wasn’t any. Still, he lingered, waiting for the blow to come.

Elain tugged on his arm.  _ Come on, love.  _

She slid her hand down his arm and linked her fingers between his. When she tugged again, he followed her back up the stairs of the terrace.

“Nice dress, by the way,” Tamlin said.

“Oh,” Elain faltered. “Umm… Thank you?”

“Yours is lovely too, but I wasn’t actually talking to you,” Tamlin smirked before stepping into the shadows and out of sight.

Lucien gestured to the bolt of fabric that made up his garment with a roll of his eyes. Anyone else would have taken the jibe as an insult, but Lucien spent centuries with Tamlin and his dry sense of humor. He decided to take it as a good sign that Tam was in good enough spirits to make a joke.

  
***************************************

That night, Lucien learned something about his father.

Helion most definitely knew how to throw a party. There were eight separate tabletop fountains, each with a different kind of wine. The far wall, made entirely of windows, was lined with tables of the widest assortment of food Lucien had ever seen. But without question, the best part of their celebration wasn’t the food or the wine or the music. It was the company.

For as long as he lived, Lucien would never forget this night. Not just because of Elain and her breathtaking beauty, but because of Nesta dragging Cassian out from under one of the wine fountains where he held his mouth open to drink straight from the source. Because of Feyre dancing with Mor while Rhys spun Suri around the floor and called her his little princess. Because of Aridea and Briar shrieking with laughter after convincing Azriel to taste a dish that they  _ swore  _ wasn’t spicy. Because of Amren glancing back and forth to check whether anyone was looking before allowing Varian to lift her at the waist so she could see whatever he was pointing at through the window.

The room was full of everyone Lucien held dear to him. He could hardly believe that a mere decade ago, he had no one and nothing to call his own. And now… now the sheer number of blessings the Mother had bestowed upon him was almost overwhelming.

The musicians struck up a waltz and several couples moved toward the center of the room to take up the dance. 

His heart swelled to see Helion and his mother, spinning in a slow circle as they ignored the steps of the waltz entirely, lost in their own love story.

Then he noticed Eris with a strikingly beautiful female on his arm, performing the waltz expertly, never missing a step. It took Lucien a moment to recognize Relleah outside of her lady's maid's attire. With her marigold hair swaying loosely and her turquoise gown, she looked positively lovely paired with his brother. 

**_Might I have this dance?_ ** Lucien extended his hand to Elain.

She promptly set down the cupcake she’d been about to take a bite out of.  _ This one… and every other one after that. _


	44. Chapter 44

The next morning, Lucien woke in a haze of euphoria. Elain stirred when he got out of bed but then nestled further back into the covers.

_ No, come back… the bed is too cold without you.  _

Lucien walked around the bed to her side. He placed his hands on the mattress on either side of her head and lowered himself to kiss her.

**_Tamlin wanted to talk to us, remember?_ **

_ Hmm… I remember him wanting to talk to you. _

**_Fiiiiiine. Make me go alone._ **

The sun gleamed in through the window, making her squint. “I know it’s the Day Court, but does the sun ever  _ not  _ shine here?”

Lucien chuckled, reaching for his clothes that were draped over the back of a chair. “Yes. I’ve been here when it’s been raining.”

“But was the sun still shining?” She pressed, flinging off the covers and begrudgingly getting out of bed. She was wearing one of the lacy underthings from a shop Feyre had taken her to in Velaris. This one was green, completely sheer with woven lace, the top stopping just above her hips and she wore matching lace panties underneath.

“I... don’t remember,” he trailed off. His breath caught when she deliberately raised her arms above her head to stretch, causing her top to rise, exposing her stomach and making her breasts more erect.

“Guilt tripping is not fair, by the way.” She pursed her lips in a pout.

“But effective nonetheless,” Lucien grinned, unable to take his eyes off her. “I got you out of bed.”

“Hmm. You’ll owe me something for that.”

“Anything you had in mind?” He wagged his eyebrows at her.

“Perhaps,” Elain mused, bringing her hand to her chin. “But it involves getting back in the bed.”

Lucien tossed the clothes into a pile on the floor. “I’m listening.”

Elain giggled. “But I thought we had to go meet Tamlin?”

Lucien prowled over to where she still stood at the edge of the bed and slowly eased her back onto it. She wrapped her leg around his thigh as he growled, “He can wait.”

  
*******************************

An hour later, Lucien and Elain made their way back down to the ballroom. Before retiring to their suite the night before, Lucien had sought Helion out to inform him of Tamlin’s presence… and his desire to speak the following day. The last thing Lucien wanted was for Tamlin to take Helion by surprise in his own court.

When they rounded the corner into the ballroom, Tamlin was already there. Gazing out one of the floor to ceiling windows, Tamlin stood with his hands folded behind his back. Lucien took notice of the crisp green and yellow tunic Tamlin wore and the way his long golden hair was neatly tied back. All in all, he looked more put together than Lucien had seen him in years.

Tamlin turned at the sound of their approaching footsteps. Helion was also there, standing a fair distance away from Tamlin. 

“Elain,” Helion greeted warmly, “I’m glad you could join us.”

“Well, the way Lucien talks up how beautiful it is to breakfast on the terrace, I just couldn’t resist.”

Helion gestured to a set of open doors leading to a brightly lit patio, its floor made entirely of mosaic tiles. Anlyn was already seated on a bench at a round stone table, which was covered in breakfast pastries and fruit.

Elain and Lucien sat on one of the empty benches while Helion joined Anlyn at hers. Tamlin took a vacant seat and said, “I would have preferred to do this in private, but—”

“But you did come into my court without a formal invitation and this was my compromise instead of sending you back to Spring,” Helion said, his words slightly clipped.

Lucien understood well enough. Helion was not pleased at all to have Tamlin come into his court, and his palace, without his consent but Tamlin  _ had  _ answered the call for aid against Beron. They all needed to tread lightly to keep this infantile alliance intact.

“So,” Lucien said, smearing a hazelnut spread onto a croissant, “what was it you wanted to talk about?”

Tamlin inhaled deeply. “I wish to abdicate my position as High Lord of the Spring Court.”

Lucien inhaled the bite of croissant and choked. “I’m sorry. You  _ what?  _ Are you insane?”

Tamlin chuckled weakly. “That’s about the reaction I expected.”

“And yet, you still waited for me to take a bite of food before telling me,” Lucien quipped. “Trying to kill me after all?”

“Quite the opposite,” Tamlin replied.

Elain reached over and put her hand on Lucien’s wrist, lowering his hand to prevent him from taking another bite. Tamlin tilted his head at her as if to thank her.

“I want you to be my successor.”

Lucien glanced around the table stupidly, as if Tamlin meant anyone else besides him. “You’re not serious?”

“I am absolutely serious,” Tamlin insisted. “I have spent the bulk of the last decade in Hybern, trying to repair the damage I helped establish. The former king of Hybern would have never been able to achieve the destruction that he did without my help. I’ve already made tremendous strides with many of the people there. After Feyre rejected me, I worked so hard to tear Prythian apart. Now I want to atone for my poor choices and help put things back together.”

Helion’s mouth hung open slightly. Lucien clicked his tongue and said, “See, I know you said you wanted to do this in private, but I really feel like this is something Rhys and Feyre need to hear.”

“No,” Tamlin said firmly, pointing at Lucien with his fork. “You can tell them later. I just… can’t be in the same room as Rhysand unless it’s absolutely unavoidable. There’s just too much bad blood there.”

“Okay, fine,” Lucien gave in. “But why me?”

Tamlin ticked off reasons on his fingers as he listed them. “You already know the land, probably better than anyone, myself included. You’re far better at diplomacy than I ever was. And most of all, the people know you and trust you. They would accept you.”

“What of the Rite?” Lucien asked with a grimace. Elain tensed beside him. “I won’t—”

“I abolished the Rite,” Tamlin cringed, disgust flashing in his eyes, “and Calanmai.”

“But I thought the land—”

“I called in a few priestesses and we researched it thoroughly,” Tamlin said. “All the old magic requires is an offering to the Mother for a bountiful harvest. It never even mentions the Rite at all. That was just an old tradition that got passed down and never questioned.”

Lucien leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. 

_ Wait, _ Elain interjected through their bond.  _ You’re not actually considering this, are you? _

**_I don’t know._ ** Lucien admitted. 

_ What about Helion? Aren’t you his heir? _

**_Shit, I didn’t even consider that._ ** He sent a mirthless laugh down the bond.  **_I never had any desire or expectation of becoming a High Lord and now I’m being offered it in two different courts._ **

“I can’t,” Lucien said definitively. “I mean, I’m honored Tam. Truly. But well…” He faltered, looking at Helion and wished he could have a silent conversation with his father like he could his mate.

It was always implied that as Helion’s heir, Lucien would take his place someday, but they had never actually gotten around to discussing it. Still, Helion seemed to know what he was struggling to say. 

“Lucien,” he said, his deep voice as smooth as velvet, “as much joy as it brought me to learn I had an heir, I care more about you being my son than my heir. This court is still very much a stranger to you, but Spring was your home for centuries. It knows you… and you, it. Besides, I am blessed to be healthy and strong. Unless an untimely accident befalls me, I don’t see you needing to take my place anytime soon. And who knows… someday if you do end up having children, the power may very well pass to one of them.”

Lucien was moved by Helion’s words, but they did nothing to relieve the tension that was building in his chest. His breaths came quicker and more rapidly. Elain put a hand on his thigh and squeezed.

_ Just breathe, my love. This isn’t something you have to decide right this minute. Let’s take some time to talk about it. _

His breathing slowly returned to normal and the tightness in his chest lifted.

**_I’d be lost without you._ **

Another light squeeze on his thigh.

“Tam,” he said, taking a deep breath, “I’m gonna need some time to think this over.”

Tamlin rose from his bench, setting his linen napkin on the table. “You know where to find me.”

Without another word, he strode off the terrace and across the gravel drive, winnowing when he reached the first hillcrest.

“Do you need us to leave you alone for a while?” Anlyn asked. 

“No,” Lucien replied. “I need everyone here to talk through this. Are Rhys and the others still here?”

Helion nodded. “The only ones who have already gone home are your brothers.”

“Fine, then,” Lucien replied. “Let’s wake everyone up.”

“Everyone?” Elain repeated hesitantly.

“Everyone,” Lucien confirmed. “They are our family. They all deserve to hear this.”

******************************  
  


Once everyone was gathered out on the terrace and he had explained what Tamlin was offering, Lucien was reevaluating his decision to tell everyone at once. Perhaps he should have just asked Rhys and Feyre to come out first, but there was nothing to it now but to listen to everyone share their opinions and thoughts.

Lucien, Elain, Helion, and Anlyn fielded questions for over a quarter of an hour. The more they talked, the more Lucien worried about how much would change if he accepted Tamlin’s offer. 

Finally, Rhys leaned against the stone railing and crossed his arms. “This may surprise you all, but I think it’s a good idea.”

“You do?” Cassian challenged. 

“I actually do, too,” Feyre said. 

“But, I’m your emissary, Rhys,” Lucien objected.

“And you have been an excellent one,” Rhys countered. “But I got along fine for hundreds of years without one, and I’ll be fine once again.”

Lucien let out a frustrated huff. “And Elain... What about Deidre? You adore her.”

“It’s not like you’ll never come back to see us,” Mor quipped. “At least, you’d better not. If you get down there and forget all about us, I’ll drag you back up by your ears.”

“But… our weekly dinner and taking Suri riding and we just—We have a  _ life _ in Velaris,” Lucien protested, running a hand through his loose hair.

“You do,” Rhys agreed, “and if you accept, it will be an adjustment for everyone. But when I made you part of my Inner Circle, that wasn’t conditional on you remaining in Velaris. We will never stop being your family simply because you move to another court.”

“And besides,” Feyre added, gesturing to Helion and Anlyn, “your parents live here in Day and your brothers—the ones you talk to anyway—are in Autumn, so your family is already spread across multiple courts.”

“Things aren’t like they were a hundred years ago,” Rhys implored. “The courts aren’t at each other’s throats and traveling between them isn’t restricted or frowned upon anymore. Autumn has a new High Lord, one whose views align with what Helion, Tarquin and I want to achieve. Thesan and Kallias are starting to get on board with it too. We want Prythian to be united. More accepting of everyone, High Fae and the other divisions of faeries. We don’t want each court to operate like its own country anymore.”

“Exactly,” Helion agreed. “So frequent visits aren’t just permitted, they’d be encouraged.”

Lucien’s metal eye fixed on one piece of orange glass in the floor mosaic. It was cracked, causing the light to bend when it hit it, but the piece still made up a larger, unbroken image of a sun.

“I spent  _ so  _ long with nothing to call my own,” Lucien said softly. “No true home. No friends. Nothing. And over the past ten years, I’ve built a life around the friends who have become my family. I found my real father, who isn’t a self-righteous prick and is someone my mother truly adores… and my mate,” he reached for Elain’s hand. “I found my mate. And I couldn’t imagine going back to a life without any one of you in it.”

“You won’t have to,” Feyre said gently. “Because you’ll still visit us for family dinners up at the House. The townhouse is yours, so if you ever need a weekend getaway, you’ll always have a home to come back to. And we’ll come down to see you too.”

Lucien’s eyebrow rose. “You’re going to come down to Spring? Really?”

Feyre sighed. “Yes, really. We have  _ all  _ grown over the past ten years. I’m looking at my future, not my past. And besides,” she added, “imagine how much Suri will  _ love  _ rolling down the hills of wildflowers.”

Lucien smiled as he pictured it. He could see the child, tiny wings flapping wildly as she ran down the hill, shrieking with glee even as she stumbled and rolled the rest of the way down.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be such a drastic change. They could still visit Velaris for their family dinners and Elain could meet with Deidre every so often to have new garments made. They would still have their Winter Solstice celebration up at the cabin each year. And he thought about how nice it would be to have all of them visit Spring. And Elain.

Oh, how Elain would absolutely love Spring. He’d been wanting to take her there since the moment he first watched her in her little garden outside the townhouse. She came to life in Velaris, but she would truly flourish in Spring.

He looked to his mate. He wouldn’t agree to it unless she did. Unless she truly wanted to move to Spring. 

**_So… what do you think?_ **

_ I think it doesn’t matter where we live. We have our family who will love us no matter what. I have you and you have me. Whatever court we live in is just a roof over our heads. It does not define the boundaries of our hearts. Our court is wherever our family is. _

**_What about your gardens?_ **

_ I told you once before… they’re just flowers. I can plant those anywhere. I belong with you. _

**_Have I told you lately that I love you?_ **

He felt her coquettish smile through the bond.  _ Yes, but you can always tell me again.  _

**_I love you._ **

_ I love you more.  _

**_I highly doubt it._ **

Elain slipped her hand into his and they looked up at their friends. Their family. Their court.

“Well?” Feyre asked tentatively. 

Lucien grinned. “Look, we’re going to have to work out a shared custody agreement for Bryaxis, okay? Because I know he’s  _ your  _ library monster, but everyone knows he likes me the best.”

Feyre squealed and pulled Elain into a tight embrace. “You are going to  _ love  _ Spring, Elain. I just know it.”


	45. Chapter 45

When they all returned to Velaris, Lucien wrote to Tamlin, accepting his offer. He told Tamlin that they would be traveling down to Spring right after the equinox. Lucien considered going before, but he didn’t want Elain to be overwhelmed and the spring equinox festival was definitely a spectacle. Better for them to be settled into their new lives for a bit before taking on that event.

In his letter, Lucien also requested permission for Feyre and Rhys as well as Helion and Anlyn to be present for the ceremony. Knowing how Tamlin felt about Rhys, Lucien completely expected that request to be denied, so he was shocked when Tamlin’s reply came, agreeing to everything. It seemed he was being true to his word and truly trying to change.

Lucien also wrote a letter to Alis, who was still living in Summer. He had maintained casual correspondence with her over the years and always sent a birthday gift for her nephews, who were now both members of Tarquin’s city guard. He explained what was to take place in Spring and invited her to return as Head of the Household. He made sure to emphasize that if she chose to remain in Summer, he would still continue to write and keep in touch. She replied less than a week later, stating she would be delighted to take the job and was looking forward to meeting Elain. 

Their little hodge-podge family spent three more family dinners together before they were set to leave. During one, dinner turned into a raucous impromptu game of I’ve Never in which everybody played, dozens of bottles were drained, and the game lasted until dawn.

After another, Lucien spent all night down in the Library with Bryaxis, finally getting around to recounting everything that had happened during the Whisperer’s reign of terror. Lucien also acknowledged Bryaxis’s presence at the mating bond ceremony.

_ “I attempted to be as inconspicuous as possible, though that court is exceedingly bright. There were very few places where I could be out in the open without being immediately seen.” _

Lucien chuckled. “You did good. And I don’t even think Cassian knew you were there.”

_ “I went to great lengths to ensure he did not see me.” _

“I appreciate you being there, Brax. We’ll have to find a way for you to visit us in Spring.”

_ “Would you care to know a secret, my friend?” _

“Always.”

_ “The back of this cave is a transit point. From it, you can reach any of the courts with the right incantation.” _

Lucien’s eyes widened. “Are you serious? How does no one know about this?”

_ “Probably because no one has ever been brazen enough to approach me.” _

“So, you can get out of this hole any time you like?”

A pitch-black nod that Lucien felt more than he saw.

“Then why don’t you?”

_ “You know the answer to that.” _

“Right, right, I know. This is your home.”

Another nod. 

“Well, in that case, I definitely expect you to visit.”

_ “Count on it, my friend.” _

Lucien stretched, shaking off the stiffness that always came with spending hours down in that dark stone cavern. “All the time I’ve spent down here, I can’t believe I never brought a chair or anything.” He began the slow trek back up the many levels of the Library. “See you around, Brax.”

Lucien was several levels above when Bryaxis finally responded.

_ “Sooner than you think. As I recall, I owe you a story about mates.” _

  
*************************************

Sooner than they realized, the day finally arrived for them to make the trip down to Spring. The goodbyes were emotional but not mournful, for as Rhys reminded them all, they would all still be seeing each other frequently.

When they arrived in Spring, Helion and Anlyn were already there. Lucien had been prepared to see the manor as it had been on his last visit—derelict and neglected, giving off an atmosphere of abandonment. Lucien had prepared Elain for that, telling her they would probably have some work ahead of them to get the manor back to acceptable living conditions. 

But what greeted them when they arrived was nothing like Lucien remembered. When he fought with Tamlin after retrieving the wings of Rhysand’s mother and sister, the manor had been deteriorating and nearly every window was broken. But now, the manor was exquisite, sparkling from floor to ceiling with fresh paint, unbroken windows, and brand-new carpet and furniture. 

“I’ve been having it renovated for over a year now,” Tamlin said as Lucien moved slowly through the main foyer, marveling at the splendor of the house.

“How did you know I would accept?” Lucien wondered. 

“I didn’t,” Tamlin shrugged. “But it needed to be fixed up either way.”

“What if I hadn’t accepted?” Lucien asked. “Would you have stayed?”

“No,” Tamlin answered, “It was always my plan to leave. You knew, even when we were tweens, I never wanted to be High Lord in the first place. If you declined, the Lordship would have gone to the regional governors until my power was passed to someone else, either by choice or natural progression after my death.”

Lucien noticed Elain trying to look at everything all at once. He squeezed her hand gently.  **_I’ll give you the full tour later._ **

From the foyer, Lucien could see into the study. A new desk—mahogany by the look of it—sat in the corner. Above the mantle in the study hung a shadow box with two ornate masks inside. One was gilded gold, encrusted with emeralds and the other a polished bronze resembling a fox.

“Mementos?” Lucien quipped as he pointed to the shadow box.

“You can trash them if you want,” Tamlin replied. “I used them as a reminder for times when I’d feel myself start to dwell on the past. They helped… but I can absolutely understand if you never wanted to see them again.”

“No, you’re right,” Lucien replied. “I think they should stay.”

Thus far, Rhys and Feyre had done what Lucien asked and remained on the front patio. Lucien felt it would go smoother if Tamlin wasn’t face-to-face with either of them.

“Shall we get to it, then?” Tamlin said, rocking forward and back on the balls of his feet. Lucien got the distinct impression that Tamlin was far beyond ready to bid this manor and this court goodbye, so he nodded and led Elain back out to the front patio where Rhys and Feyre waited with Helion and Anlyn. Rhys grimaced slightly when Tamlin emerged through the front door, but he remained quiet and even took a few steps back so that he and Feyre weren’t in Tamlin’s line of sight.

A priestess had been called in to officiate the formal passing of the High Lord’s power. She placed one hand on Tamlin’s forehead and said, “Tamlin Corbescha, do you surrender your title, your power, and your authority over this court of your own free will?”

Tamlin repeated the oath in a solemn but clear voice. “I surrender my title, my power, and my authority over this court of my own free will.”

A light flashed where the priestess’s hand rested on Tamlin’s brow, traveling down his entire body until it seemed to pass from his boots into the ground, giving the power of the High Lord back to the land.

“Lucien Soclara,” the priestess said, “do you accept the title, the power, and the responsibility to govern this court to the best of your abilities?”

Lucien’s entire body was rigid, nervous energy seeping from every pore. He wanted this… but he also didn’t. He always thought it was ironic that his brothers saw him as a threat to the throne of Autumn. Like Tamlin, he had never wanted to be a High Lord. He realized though, that whether he became High Lord of Spring or not, he was still in line for the throne of Day. One way or another, it seemed he was destined to inherit that power. That responsibility. That weight.

Elain squeezed his hand, sending a wave of affection down the bond.  _ You okay? _

He gave her a reassuring squeeze in return. 

Elain. He was doing this for Elain. Deep within his heart, he knew that Spring was the court where Elain was meant to be. Even in the few minutes since they had been there, she seemed to come alive with the sounds of songbirds and the aromas of the various flowers growing in the gardens.

So for Elain, Lucien stood tall and said clearly, “I accept the title, the power, and the responsibility to—”

The light that had passed from Tamlin into the ground began shining at his feet. It surged upward, but not into Lucien.

Elain shivered as the light passed from the ground into her feet, traveling up her spine and making her brow glow before settling in her heart. She looked at Lucien and gave a nervous but excited laugh.

“What just happened?” Feyre muttered to Rhys, apparently so stunned she forgot to speak through her bond with him.

“Elain,” Helion declared, “just became High Lady of the Spring Court.”


	46. Epilogue

“I _ told _ you Silverhoof was faster,” Elain said triumphantly as she slowed her horse to a canter once the stable was in sight.

“That’s just because you’re lighter,” Lucien protested, gesturing to the baldric full of daggers across his chest and the bow strung over his back. “Plus, I have all this extra weight to account for.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Elain muttered with a smirk. 

When they reached the stable, they dismounted and passed the horses off to the stable hands, who were waiting with cubes of sugar and brushes.

“Thank you, Drell, Flynn,” Elain called out to the two stable hands before she slipped her arm around Lucien’s waist. “Don’t forget dinner will be a little later tonight,” she added, calling back to them. “Azriel and Briar are coming and won’t be getting in until at least seven o’clock.”

Lucien draped his arm around her shoulder and together, they walked through the gardens and back to the manor. Elain always invited the staff to join them for meals, but few rarely did. Only Alis was a regular at their dinner table. Still, they all knew the offer remained open.

Once inside, they made their way upstairs to their room, which had originally been Lucien’s room. During the renovations Tamlin ordered, he had Lucien’s old room expanded, adding a formal parlor, a small study, and an attached bathing room. 

Lucien shucked off his baldric and laid it on a table in his study. He stripped off his tunic and was about to drop it on the floor when Elain clicked her tongue.

“If you throw that filthy shirt on the floor, you’ll regret it.”

Lucien’s grin turned feline. “Oh? What will my punishment be?”

Elain rolled her eyes and laughed. “Oh, just pick it up and throw it in the hamper. It reeks of horse and sweat.”

Lucien bent down and retrieved the tunic from the floor. “Of course,” he smirked. “I must obey my High Lady’s command.”

“Hmm,” Elain simpered, peeling off her own riding clothes and dropping them in the wicker basket atop Lucien’s tunic. “My next command is for you to get in that bath immediately.  _ You  _ reek of horse and sweat.”

Lucien spun her around and pulled her into a bone-crushing embrace, pressing her against his bare chest. “And now you do too.”

“Oh, now you’re  _ really  _ going to regret that!” Elain shoved him away with a shriek.

She darted into the bathing room where a tub full of soaking hot bubbles awaited them. “In, in, in!” She yelped, ducking as Lucien tried to embrace her again. Finally, he complied, sinking into the tub with a relaxed sigh.

“You know, you stink of horse too,” Lucien pointed out. “Might as well join me.”

Elain pursed her lips and stood with her hand on her hip. “Well…” she mused. “I do vaguely remember another bath.”

“Hmm?” Lucien asked without really paying attention as he lathered his biceps with soap.

“It was last year, during the Whisperer’s reign of terror,” she went on.

The Whisperer’s Reign of Terror was what they liked to refer to the entire previous year. Enough time had passed that they could now talk about it without being overwhelmed by sorrow or regret.

Elain sauntered over to the edge of the tub. It was one of the only things they changed after Tamlin’s renovations. The tub that had been in the bathing room was a magnificent marble tub with clawed feet. It was exquisite… but not built for two. The tub they put in its place was much like the one at the Inner Circle’s cabin, only it wasn’t sunken into the floor like a pool. 

She braced her hands on the edges and lowered herself into the steaming water. Crossing over to Lucien, she purred, “Something about you wishing I would climb into your lap, right there in the tub?”

His head snapped up to look at her. Finally, she had his attention.

“You know,” he said with a roguish smile, “I think I remember that too.”

  
*****************************

Elain hummed softly as she sat beside him on a small bench built into the window. It wasn’t a melody Lucien recognized… thought it wouldn’t surprise him if it was something she had made up herself. Her delicate fingers worked his hair, still damp from the bath, into tiny braids that she tucked behind his tapered ears.

His assumption that she would flourish in Spring proved correct. She was always either singing to herself or humming or just smiling. Elain seemed to  _ always  _ be smiling these days. She truly was made for Spring. So much that the land itself chose her as its sovereign. And it wasn’t even just gardening that she seemed to have an affinity for. He recalled how delighted she’d been to find a whole thicket of blackberry vines, ripe and ready for picking. She and Alis used them to make pies and muffins and just the thought of them made Lucien’s mouth water. 

“Cauldron boil me,” Lucien muttered suddenly. 

“What?”

“I just realized something.”

She looked at him expectantly, her fingers hovering by his ear.

“The second half of your prophecy,” Lucien said excitedly. “Remember?”

Elain’s eyes narrowed as she seemed to search her memory. “The dove caught in the hunter’s snare… that was Beron kidnapping me.”

“Right,” Lucien agreed. “And the second part we never could figure out.”

“Blackberry winter yields to the sun.”

“Do you know what a blackberry winter is?” He asked.

“It’s… well, technically it’s a cold snap during late spring, usually when the blackberries are in bloom,” Elain said. “But it’s generally just become another term for spring.”

Lucien watched her, waiting for the pieces to fit together.

“Holy Mother,” Elain finally muttered. “I predicted this?” She gestured to their room and the rolling green hills outside their window.

“I think you predicted Tamlin offering the High Lordship to me,” Lucien said, bringing his hand up to her neck, leaning in to kiss her. “But the Cauldron knew better,” he murmured against her mouth. “I think you were Made for this.”

“I was Made for  _ you.”  _ She kissed him again and nudged his hip, prompting him to turn around to allow her to finish working on his hair.

She brought the two braids behind his ears together at the back of his head and secured them with a tiny strip of leather. Her fingers combed through his damp hair, making him shiver. He turned back around and gently took her hands in his, bringing them to his mouth and kissing each finger.

**_You will be a wonderful mother someday._ **

He could have said it aloud but saying it down the bond allowed him to send the thought with more love and tenderness than he could formulate into words.

Where sorrow once lingered in her eyes, now shone only hope. 

_ You truly believe that? _

**_You know I do._ **

Elain’s hands trembled and Lucien held them tighter to his chest. Tears filled her eyes as her bottom lip quivered.

“Elain, dove? What is it?”

Her hands still clasped in his, she sent an image through their bond. An image of a child with crimson hair and doe-brown eyes.

Lucien jerked back, stunned. He searched her face for confirmation. For assurance.

Elain smiled at him. “That came to me while we were riding today. I don’t know if it was just a hopeful thought or if it’s a promise of what’s to come but...”

She swiveled around on the bench, leaning her back against his firm, warm chest. Lucien enveloped his arms around her, his chin resting on her head. “Whatever our future holds,” he murmured, “I’ll welcome as long as I have you beside me.”

They gazed out the window, watching the sun start its descent below the luscious emerald fields stretching into the distance. Through their bond, Lucien felt swells of contentment and peace. He tightened his arms around her, breathing in her scent.

**_You are enough._ **

She nestled closer against him, her arms draped atop his.

_ No...  _ We  _ are enough.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe it? We finally reached the end!! This was a long journey and I can say with 100% confidence I would _not_ have finished this story without all of your beautifully encouraging comments. I went through such a long streak of being uninspired to finish this story, but I got so many comments and I felt bad for leaving y'all hanging when you've been SO supportive of me and this story. So to all my AO3 readers, this one is for you... because I never would have made it past the first chapter without you all.


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